Each Vote Counts
by fleetwoodgirly
Summary: For the twenty-fifth Hunger Games, or the first Quarter Quell, when the citizens of the districts of Panem must vote for their tributes, each vote will count.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games.**

* * *

**Josef Inouye, District 3**

"In celebration of the first twenty-five years of the Hunger Games, an anonymous decision has been made to add a little twist to these Games. We will call it the Quarter Quell and it shall arrive every twenty-five years to create more excitement with the Games. This year is our first Quarter Quell."

A small, cruel grin sneaks onto President Aufidius's snickering expression. The rare times I am forced to listen to his hideous and atrocious speeches concerning the country of Panem, I can't help but shudder at the mere sight of our President. His acutely smoothed-back pitch black hair and inhumanely perfect facial features makes my spine shiver in fear.

Everything about him is dark. His eyes, hair, and clothes are all the color of midnight, except for his skin, which is milky white. President Aufidius's pale pink lips turn up with an intimidating smirk.

"For the first Quarter Quell," he continues evilly, "the citizens of each district of Panem will choose their own tributes by voting for them. The reaping will be held on a ballet. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor." He spits the last part out without his signature scary smirk, which tells me he doesn't really wish the odds in my favor.

Mother grips my shoulder tighter than ever before and watches me with worrying eyes. Translucent tears glisten in her oval-shaped eyes, a trait I inherited from her. The rest of my appearance, brunette hair and long legs, my father passed onto me.

My father, the crazy man who terrorizes the citizens of District 3 with his outrageous ideas of the rebellion that failed twenty-five years ago. Oh, and also the ideas of cleaner, more efficient ways of harvesting energy. Those ones aren't so bad, but the ones about the rebellion get the Peacekeepers all riled up.

My father has spent over thirty nights in the District prison for disrupting the peace. Everyone knows he is off his rocker, even me. I hardly ever see him due to the fact that I am in school most of the time. The Capitol keeps District 3 kids in school longer to maintain our status as the technological geniuses.

My little sister, Arion, cuddles closer to Mother and whimpers frightfully. She tangles her thin little hand in my hair. Thankfully, she still is too young for the reaping and the Hunger Games.

I, unfortunately, am eligible.

"I don't want you to leave, Josef," Arion murmurs in a soprano voice.

I don't answer, and neither does Mother. As much as we feel we need to reassure her for the best, we can't do that. We simply cannot lie to her. Deceitful lies are what destroy people. I never want my sister's beautifully innocent soul to be damaged more than it has been.

"It's late, Arion. Why don't you go to bed?" sighs Mother, brushing stray wispy strands of hair out from my sister's eyes. She'll need to have her long bangs cut soon. I can't help but think that I might not be here for that event.

"Okay," she yawns sleepily, slipping off to the bedroom she shares with Mother. Arion's soft footsteps fade out and out of the corner of my eye, I see Mother glance at me.

I don't meet Mother's gaze. I know it will only cause her grief. She doesn't want to see the truth. She wants to block it out for as long as possible. But what good does that do? The truth eventually finds its way through, and when it is put off, its surprise presentation is worse than it would have been earlier.

_The citizens of each district of Panem will choose their own tributes by voting for them._

Who do you think District 3 will vote for the male tribute of the first Quarter Quell?

If you guessed Josef Inouye, you were quite right.

It's not a done deal, but the people of District 3 only hate one person in particular, and that person is my father. They hate him for trying to incite rebellions and causing uproarious commotion from the Peacekeepers. The only reason there are so many Peacekeepers in 3 is because of my father and his revolutionary ideas.

So naturally, the citizens of 3 will vote off the crazy man's son in attempt to rid District 3 of any other rebellious ties. No one in Panem wants to be a part of any uprising or revolt any longer. Not after the horrors that the citizens experienced twenty-five years ago. Mother was just a girl when the rebellion was demolished and all hopes for freedom were smashed under the terrifying boot that is the Capitol. She used to tell me that my father is the only person who kept hope for the districts' liberation after the Hunger Games was devised.

I actually remember my father telling me something long ago. He said that everyone should have options and the right to choose among those options. I was very young back then so I didn't get it. I still probably don't know the entire meaning of his courageous statements.

Well, the districts certainly do have options now. And they even have the power to choose.

The power to choose a child's death sentence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Fiorella Gage, District 1**

As the sun settles in the west upon the factory tops of District 1, I race back home from my daily rounds to all the neighbors' houses. Ever since the Quarter Quell announcement, I have been visiting each and every one of my neighbors, trying to convince them to vote for me. I will be voted in as the female tribute of District 1 if I can help it.

"Good evening!" I call out and wave to strangers on the street. The trainers at the Academy told me to start being a whole lot nicer to people if I want them to vote for me. They said the votes will be close, due to our district having many able competitors, but if the citizens see someone who is not as arrogant or snobby as the others, they are more likely to vote for the humble kid.

This all makes sense to me. It's like being in the Games already. You keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

I don't want to brag, which is exactly what my trainers are trying to get me to stop, but I am an expert on the Hunger Games. I may not be the best with weapons, but I have extensive knowledge on different strategies for particular situations, whether it is finding water or being outnumbered in a fight. I know it all; that fact can't be denied.

"Good luck, Fiorella," my neighbor, Lemuel, says from his front yard as I run by.

I wave and smile amiably. "Thanks, Lem!"

Once I reach my family's home, I sprint eagerly into the kitchen and boost myself onto the counter. The rule is that the kids eligible for the reaping aren't allowed to vote, but Grandfather is blind and can barely get out of his chair. They finally retired him from the factories when they realized that he slowed production down by being there.

Three envelopes sit on the counter. One for my mom, one for my dad, and one for Grandfather. I leave the ones for my parents alone, for they would be royally pissed if I touched them, and I tear open Grandfather's. They shouldn't mind that I filled this one out. Grandfather isn't far from the grave, so they'll think his vote won't count for anything.

If indeed they think that, they couldn't be more wrong. Each vote counts now.

The envelope slices open at my fingertips and a slip of crisp white paper falls out. I fumble to find a pen before unfolding the paper. It lists several hundred girls in the small fine print. My eyes seek out my own name. About half way through the list, among the other G's, I find _Fiorella Gage. _

I quickly place a little check next to my name, double and triple checking it to make sure I got the right name. You can never be too careful.

My eyes shift to the left of the paper. More names are listed. Confusion muddles my mind before it clicks. I have to vote for a boy, too.

I hadn't thought of that before. I was so caught up with voting for myself selfishly, that I hadn't thought of which boy would be my district partner.

Now I ponder deeply before making a rash decision. I can't send in a friend or one of my cousins because that could weaken me emotionally. I cannot allow emotions to rattle me during the biggest event in my life. I can't allow their deaths to be on my regretful heart.

Absentmindedly, I smooth out and stroke my ruffled skirt and beach blonde hair. That's what Grandfather called it anyway, years ago. I have never seen a beach in District 4, but Grandfather had. It was years before the rebellion and the wonderful Hunger Games. I wonder how he remembers what it looked like from a faint memory all those years ago.

Fiddling with my shirt tail and looking at the list of boys' names over and over again, I decide to pick intelligently. I want to vote for someone weak, someone I can get rid of easily and not have to worry about stabbing me in the back.

One name stands out. _Michaelo Kerry. _

Most likely, this boy won't be picked. I see scores more better choices to pick to represent District 1 in the Quell. The district citizens will choose someone more worthy of this honor. But this is my vote, or rather Grandfather's, and I will vote for whoever I like. I check the box next to the Kerry boy's name.

I hear the front door slam shut and two pairs of footsteps stomping toward the kitchen. My mom and dad are home from work at the luxury goods factory. I slip off the counter and sneak off to my room, voting ballet still in hand.

I listen and hear my parents open their ballets warily. Unlike me, they take their time to pick. I start to worry at their patience and careful brainstorming. My parents better vote for their own daughter!

After a hearty dinner in celebration of the vote, my family disperses across the house. Grandfather remains in his stationary spot in the living room on his recliner. My dad takes the ballets outside and places them in the newspaper, not even realizing that one is missing. I roll my eyes at his ignorance. The trainers at the Academy told me to never pity ignorance or ill of mind.

At midnight, I silently open the double windows widely in my room. Checking to see if the coast is clear, I edge out of the windows and land stealthily on the ground. Luckily, my room is on the first story of our house. Then, I lurk around the side of the house to the mailbox. No Peacekeepers are out at this time of night thankfully.

Once the deed is done, I hurry back inside. The biting wind doesn't let up in the slightest at night in District 1. I crawl under the covers back in my room, snuggling close to my purple blanket that I knitted myself when I was nine years old. I had read that back in the old days, royalty was born, clothed, and laid to rest in purple. I wanted to be a part of that tradition.

Just before dozing off, I pray fervently to be chosen. Winning the Games is an honor, but winning this Quarter Quell seems like so much more. I pray for the people of District 1 to please, please choose me.

Then sleep fogs my mind and I slip into my own personal dreamland.


	3. Chapter 3

**Rosemary Mayfield, District 8**

A knock comes at the door at the crack of dawn. The sun isn't even up and yet there is someone at the door. We all know it is news of the votes, which were entered last night. The Capitol must be magic for counting thousands of votes that fast.

I answer the door. A Peacekeeper stands before me in his pristine white uniform and a grim look of annoyance on his wrinkled face. He tries to push me aside, but I hold my ground.

"Where are your parents, little girl?" His voice is raspy and tough, like sandpaper. I don't let him intimidate me.

"They're dead."

"Who takes care of you?"

"My aunt," I respond just as my Aunt Judianna appears behind the Peacekeeper on the porch. She is just getting home from her night shift at the textile plants. We decided that I would take the day shifts and she would take the night shifts so someone would always be home to take care of my baby brother, who was born right before the factory explosion that killed my parents and my uncle.

Aunt Judianna nods to the Peacekeeper. "I take care of her. Why are you here?"

The Peacekeeper does not look happy at all at our sullen attitudes with him. "The reaping will be at noon. The kids with the most votes will be revealed there. Be there unless you are at death's doorstep."

And with that, the Peacekeeper marches off to the next house, where he pounds his heavy fist on the door again.

Aunt Judianna watches my brother while I get ready for the reaping. Others might think that by living in the textile district, I would have immense wardrobes of countless gowns and clothes. Well, they would be wrong. I only carry the clothes on my back, plus one dress that I wear to every reaping.

This year I am fifteen, and this is my fourth reaping. The Quell has shaken things up, but I don't have any worries. If it's me, so be it.

No matter how old I grow, I never outgrow this one dress. I've had it since my parents were alive, which speaks volumes. The one challenge is the struggle to slip it on over my head. Once I do, I comb out my messy rat's nest that is my hair and wash my filthy face and hands.

Normally, I wouldn't have any time at all for any of this. Between working at the factory and caring for my brother, I barely have time to eat and sleep. I find those are preferable to combing my hair.

Come to think of it, I can't remember clearly the last time I ran a brush through my unhealthy light brown locks. We don't have a mirror, but I know the rest of my appearance just as anyone else does. I sport short legs that are overly prone to acting clumsy and tripping over miscellaneous objects. My eyes are the shade of the District 8 streets: murky, dark brown and ugly. Freckles are sprinkled lightly over my tight little face, with scrunched up features and a stubby nose and chin.

All in all, I'm not exactly a Capitol beauty.

On the way to the reaping at noon, I actually catch a glimpse of my reflection in a puddle. With my hair combed and face clean, I don't completely look like a monster. My thick eyebrows crinkle at the sight of my face. I feel bad for the people who are forced to look at me.

I check in and go to the fifteen-year-old girls' section. In the roped off area, I see various girls that used to be my friends when I attended school. I dropped out when my parents died because I couldn't work at the factory, care for my brother, and go to school at the same time. So I prioritized.

They greet me warily and the crowd is called to attention by our perky escort, Augusta. She prances around on stage, trying her very best to attract attention. Her bright, jagged-looking neon yellow dress compares her to a lightning bolt. I peer closer and see that her eyes are yellow, too! She must really, really love the color.

"Now to reveal the winners of the district-wide vote!" Augusta squeals like a happy little baby that isn't starving.

I faintly hear the crowd take a collective breath as Augusta reaches into the reaping ball, which only contains one slip of paper.

Augusta opens it up and smiles out at the crowd to create drama. Then, in a loud, squeaky voice, she calls out, "Rosemary Mayfield!"

The other girls sigh in relief and make way for me to get to the stage. My new escort bounces around ecstatically as she waits impatiently. I climb the stairs, which resemble a mountain by the effort it takes, and mount the stage.

"Excellent! Now for the boys!"

Augusta trots over to the other reaping ball, almost whacking me in the head with her lightning bolt costume. She reaches in dramatically slow and pulls out the single slip of paper.

"Levi Pliny!"

A boy with surprisingly bright green eyes mounts the stage next to me. I don't even see anything else about the boy because his emerald eyes lock onto mine and I can't look away. Startling, haltingly, and hauntingly, his gaze analyzes me with those intelligent eyes.

Finally, I force my eyes to turn to my outstretched hand. We shake hands loosely before Augusta ends the reaping and ushers the two of us into the Justice Building. We board a car that drives us to the train station.

Ignoring Augusta, who chatters to the driver, Levi turns to me.

"I know why I was voted in. Why were you?" he asks, emerald eyes questioning.

I rack my brain before giving him the best answer I can. "I'm the clumsiest person in Panem. They probably just want me out of the factory. I slowed down production."

Levi nods understandingly. "I was voted in for ditching shifts. It wasn't continuous, not enough to get me a trip with the firing squad. Just enough to be voted out of 8." Levi chuckles at the last part.

"What do you mean, voted _out _of 8?" I inquire, lost in those damn green eyes again.

He chuckles again. "You don't seriously think I'm coming back, right?"

But then Augusta interrupted what I was going to say, and we dropped the conversation for now. I would get my answer, though. I am that stubborn.

We watch the gray, disturbing factories of 8 that are our home disappears behind our backs. They don't come back into sight and eventually I give up hope that they magically will. Instead, I stare ahead, totally unprepared for what lies in the future for me.


	4. Chapter 4

**Freedom Remmington, District 11**

The fields and orchards blur away into oblivion. Forest Ornella, my district partner, sits beside me in the train car, jam-packed with foreign foods of all kinds, and watches the familiar sights of home escape behind our backs. Then the train is swallowed up by a tall mountain and darkness envelopes us.

Weirdly enough, Forest reminds me of the orchards at home. His smooth dark skin resembles the tough bark of the trees, his dark green eyes match the shade of the leaves, and coupled with his name Forest, it has me envisioning the scenes of our far-away home and spacing out without warning.

I, however, am the complete opposite of my district partner. My wavy, bright auburn hair stands out, bordering on the color red, plus snow gray eyes that rest upon hollow cheeks. My skin is an unhealthy shade of golden brown, tanned from long hours in the District 11 sun.

I don't know why, but I always remember Forest being extremely healthy. He never missed a day of school or work, and his dark green eyes always contained a certain spark of liveliness.

Perhaps I only notice this about people because of my state of health. I was born a small, sickly baby and have retained some strange sort of sickness throughout my thirteen years. The district midwives all said the same thing: I won't live long. Maybe that was foreshadowing to my reaping.

The citizens of 11 voted for me to enter the Quarter Quell because of that very reason, I'm guessing. I am useless in the fields and orchards. I am useless to the district. And why not shorten my already shorten lifespan?

Neither our mentor nor our escort joins us for many long hours. Forest spends most of his time by the window. I feel a bit shy here, surrounded by trays, racks, platters, and dishes of food piled to the brim of every one. I think about maybe snatching a bread roll from one, but think better of it. Instead, I sit quietly next to my district partner.

A question burns through my mind and I finally release its choking hold on me. "How old are you, Forest?"

When he answers, I breathe a little easier. I have never, ever been good and patient at keeping my questions at bay. "I'm sixteen."

"I'm thirteen," I say, even though he doesn't ask. He shakes his head pitifully. "What is it?" I ask.

"Thirteen is too young," he replies simply.

I shrug uncomfortably. What am I supposed to say, I agree? No, I'll just remain silent. Silence is manageable for me. For a long while, Forest stares out the window and I trace patterns in the mahogany table.

After what seems to be eternity, our mentor waltzes through the fancy, automatic sliding door. She slides into a chair across from the two of us. I don't know her name, but I do know that she won the Games a few years ago and has done nothing but drug herself out to forget it. Her eyes are hazy and incoherent, and can barely focus on one of us for longer than a minute or two.

"Hi," I squeak out like a little mouse. "I'm Freedom."

At the sound of my name, our mentor snorts. She leans back in her chair and zones out of reality for a moment. Forest glances at me warily.

"Is she okay?" he whispers. I shrug

"I don't even know her name," I whisper back, almost inaudibly.

Forest frowns. "I think it's Zipporah."

That's a pretty name. "Zipporah?" I say tremulously. She focuses her gaze back to me. "Are you okay?"

Zipporah mumbles something unintelligible before rising out of her seat. She stumbles back through the train car, walking through the same doorway she came in through. The room is silent after that.

"That was weird," I state outright. "Do you think she was drugged out a bit?"

Forest laughs, his sparkling green eyes crinkling. "I think she was more than _a bit_ drugged out." He sighs and shrugs. "Where's that crazy escort of ours?"

I laugh at this. "I have no idea."

Prolonged silence. Then, Forest suggests we watch the reapings from the other districts. I easily agree.

After we experience technological difficulties, Forest and I manage to turn the television on the right channel. We watch as twenty-four teens, including ourselves, mount the stage to their possible death.

From District 1, it's a lethal-looking beauty queen named Fiorella, who seems absolutely overjoyed that she was voted in, and another Career boy that looks just as deadly, if not more. The announcers ogle over the pair, obviously giving them the attention they so crave.

From District 2, two more strong tributes are chosen. Without a doubt in my mind, I know they will create an alliance with the pair from 1.

District 3 is an interesting choice. Two seemingly normal kids are voted in. Peering close, I can't find one thing that would alienate them from their neighbors to motivate them to vote for their deaths. They must have some sort of family problems, because their issues are not showcased in their appearance. Their names are Wren Woodrow and Josef Inouye.

The announcers, Guy Astro and Tally Billings, are so monotonous to me that I lose focus for a few minutes. I miss the District 4 and 5 reaping, but I know what to expect. 4 will have a couple of bloodthirsty Careers and 5 won't have anything special. Maybe one will have some small talent, but nothing to be overwhelmingly afraid of.

The tributes from District 6 catch my eye, for whatever reason. The seventeen-year-old boy, Callum Thomas, seems a bit skitsofrantic, but otherwise shares a lot of the same traits as me. We both share the same red hair, but his is more pronounced. His light blue eyes are nearly as light as mine. He bravely mounts the stage, but just as the escort tries to lead him inside the Justice Building, Callum has a meltdown. He tries to break away, but his district partner, Wynter Sequoia, wrestles him into the building while their escort wards off the probing cameras.

District 7's girl presents herself as a weakling, a bloodbath victim, but the boy is ruthless. He stomps up the stairs to the podium, standing tall and proud at seven feet tall. His grim face is the killer face of a victor. Rudyard is his name and intimidating is his game. I predict him joining the Careers somewhere along the line.

A boy with shocking green eyes joins a scrawny girl on the stage in District 8. I don't remember their names, just their determined faces.

District 9 and 10 pass by quickly. No one stands out like the other districts. Forest and I watch as our past selves are reaped. I find it particularly difficult to watch myself on television. It's an unknown sight. I rarely see my reflection in a mirror, let alone on a television screen. The announcers compliment my name.

"It has zeal, don't you think?" Tally Billings exclaims chirpily.

In the run-down District 12, a rag-tag pair is put together. A tough-as-nails boy called Saul emerges from the crowd and a petite girl named Clementine joins him on the stage. Their amateur escort cannot stop giggling, making the crowd angry and restless. I have always liked District 12 the most out of all their other districts because I know that they suffer alongside 11. They share our pain.

The announcers sign off and Forest turns the television off.

"Well," I say, "we definitely have our hands full this year."

"That we do."


	5. Chapter 5

**Callum Thomas, District 6**

My prep team corners me in the small, enclosed room. I've tried over and over again to explain my claustrophobia to them, but they are as dumb as rocks. They all grip sadistic beauty tools in their grubby paws. The light catching the tips of the sharp metal points cause me to shake in my shoes. They also don't know what skitsofrantic is either.

I feel like I've been thrown into the arena already.

"C'mon, Skitzy," the pink one chirps. I would scoff at the stupid nickname if she wasn't holding a pair of lethal-looking scissors in her manicured hand. "We just want to help you."

I force myself to take a deep breath and close my eyes. _This is why they voted you in, Callum. Because District 6 hates you. They hate you and don't want you there. They'd rather have you dead._

It's true. Those damned voices in my head are absolutely right. They always are. I've never doubted them, and they've always been there, constantly bugging me with tragedy and other nonsense.

The one with the sculpted hair reaches for my arm again. I flinch away from her touch, afraid that she might drag me off and torture me to death. I don't know why this frightens me so. I'm in the Quarter Quell already, so death is inevitable.

The idea is still enough to make me scream and screech for help like a banshee.

The door behind my prep team just about flies off its hinges at the sound of my cries. Everyone looks up. I can't stop shaking. My eyes flit from one figure to another before a deep voice beckons my prep team to back off. They disperse quickly and scatter off in different directions.

My savior keeps his distance. She stays by the door, waiting for me. I stand up shakily and take a single step forward. Remembering my father's words from long before he died, I hold out my hand for a proper introduction.

The woman glances up and smiles. She shakes my thin hand softly. "I'm Emilia, your stylist. I apologize for your prep team's behavior. They are only excited to meet you."

I struggle for an appropriate answer. "It's nice to meet you," I finally answer.

Emilia smiles warmly. "Sit down, and we'll talk."

We sit on the white furry sofa and Emilia orders a simple dish from the silent servant. We talk about various things, with Emilia supplying most of the conversation. She's excellent at keeping the conversation flowing smoothly with the tiniest peeps out of me. She acts like my small answers are so insightful and brilliant.

"Now, let's talk about your Tribute Parade costume," she says, setting her wine glass down. I don't touch the alcohol, only the abundant food. I don't need to head into the arena like a drunken fool. My mentor already is one, plus he's into the morphine. Can't get off the stuff. I pity him for winning the Games so long ago.

"I was thinking that, to reflect your district, we need to create a costume to represent transportation."

I roll my eyes, but don't say anything.

"What is it?" Emilia asks. "You don't like that idea?"

I merely shrug, adding, "It always turns out awful. Dressing up kids as trains and airplanes? I'd like to think District 6 has a little more class than that."

Emilia nods understandingly. "I get what you mean. That's why I decided to take District 6 as my project, because I don't want you to be a train. You see, I'm only a university student, and being a stylist for the Quell is like my final exam. If I help you get sponsors, I get an A in the class and I can finally graduate and become a real stylist."

I nearly ask her what a university, final exam, and graduating is, but I don't want to sound completely ignorant. Instead, I nod like I know what's going on. "So what are you going to dress me up as? Conductors?" I ask sarcastically.

"Yes! How'd you know?" Emilia exclaims excitedly. We laugh together.

"Really?" I sigh a bit exasperatedly as our laughter dies down.

Emilia nods, grinning. "I thought that we could spiff you up really nicely and present you as train conductors. I have vintage uniforms from the old days when trains had conductors instead of computer-activated machines. Would you like to see them?"

Before I can answer, Emilia is out of her seat and bounding away. She comes back in a few moments with two hangers covered by plastic wrap. She sets one down that must be for my district partner, Wynter. Emilia rips the plastic off the other in one swift, fluid motion. She holds the conductor suit up to the light.

The brass buttons stand out among the maroon fabric, which I am informed is cashmere by Emilia. The cuffs are white collar and clean, nothing like the filthy, tattered blue collars we have back home. The ends are edged by intricate patterns and designs with loops and twists. My eyes follow one line but are soon lost by the maze of others… The pattern is endless and mesmerizing.

"Here, try it on."

"Thanks," I murmur, taking the suit. It's amazingly lightweight. Emilia slips out of the room to give me some privacy and to scold my prep team. She's a good friend.

When I put the costume on, Emilia and my prep team come back in. The prep team has their heads hung low, but when they see the costume, they can't help but cheer. They applaud Emilia for her ingenious idea, and hurry off to deliver the other costume to Wynter's stylist.

When we are alone again, Emilia runs off somewhere to do something, leaving me time to take the costume off and put my reaping clothes back on. My stylist returns and does my prep team's work herself. She trims back my unruly red hair and orders me to take a bath, unlike my prep team, who tried to wrestle me into the wretched thing.

The team comes back to help scrub the skin off me and rub thousands of lotions into my skin, but they leave soon after that. Only one remains. The one with the sculpted hair like the moon when it's a crescent. There are streaks of bright orange in it that swirl with the shape of her hair. She sees me eyeing her spectacularly strange hairdo with speculation and grins.

"I'm sorry we scared you, Skitzy. We are just anxious for the Quell, and I'm sure you are, too. My name is Valeria."

"And mine is Callum, not Skitzy," I reply shyly under the gaze of this strange Capitol woman.

She smiles mischievously. "Oh, we know," she teases.

I watch her closely for the rest of the morning, never letting her out of my sight. I wouldn't want to let my guard down only for her and her crazy team to attack me again. I don't make the same mistake twice.

"Go ahead and put the costume back on, Callum," instructs Emilia. "It's time to go meet your district partner and her stylist. The Tribute Parade is this afternoon."

Of course it is. Because Capitol citizens are too lazy to get up early in the morning to watch us tributes ride into their grand city on chariots for their entertainment and our punishment.

Once I'm in costume and everything is in order, Emilia escorts Valeria and me down to the stables where our chariot and horses await us. Valeria is dismissed soon after. My district partner, Wynter, and her stylist meet us by the chariot.

Wynter is dressed identical to me, only her dark brown hair is pulled back into a perfect bun atop her heads. We sport the same uniform and prim, proper white gloves. Her glum expression bewilders me.

"Hi Callum," she mumbles unenthusiastically with a tiny wave. I wave back, but am too shy to ask what the matter is.

I don't think I have to, though. I wasn't particularly best friends with this girl back home, but we knew each other. We lived in the same orphanage in 6. Her parents and my parents were killed in the same freak accident in the plane part factories a decade ago. Plus, we were voted in for similar reasons.

I was voted in to the Quell for reasons I can fathom. I'm guessing that District 6 was getting tired of that annoyingly shy orphan that runs away at the drop of a hat for no apparent reason and claims that people's words conflict with the voices in his head. That's why I was voted in by the citizens of 6, if anyone was wondering.

With an educated guess, I think that Wynter was voted in for the same thing. No one likes the orphans in 6. It takes time and money to run the community home, and no one wants to volunteer to work there. People are forced to because the Peacekeepers have no patience for people's unwillingness to help the orphans.

District 6 is trying to kill two birds with one stone it seems.


	6. Chapter 6

**Saul Rigel, District 12**

The District 1 chariot rolls out of the stables and the boom of the crowd rattles the walls the surround us. I catch a glimpse of Clementine, my district partner, and her white knuckles as she holds onto the chariot railing for dear life. Clem is a town girl, with straight blonde wisps of hair and pale blue eyes like the sky. Her thin arms are barely enough to keep her holding on and not falling off this unstable buggy.

But I am a Seam kid, from the poorer, beat-down section of District 12. Mine are the eyes that are stone gray like mica and mine is the brown hair that matches the dull color of dirt. I have the unhealthy, sallow pale thick skin that won't be pierced and bled by tragedy or starvation. The Peacekeepers can kick me down, but I keep getting back up.

And seeing fragile little Clem here, in the twisted Hunger Games or Quarter Quell or whatever it's called, is weakening.

It's like seeing my own little sister here next to me.

I must remind myself that Clem is not my responsibility. None of these tributes here are my responsibility to keep alive. Getting myself out of that arena is my task. That is what I owe my district.

My mind flashes back to the reaping as the District 2 chariot rolls out of the stables.

* * *

"_Saul Rigel," the escort announced. All other noise ceased to exist and the only sound to be heard for miles around was the echoing footsteps of a chosen tribute. I stepped out of the eighteen-year-old section and ascended the staircase to my imminent doom._

_I shook hands with the fourteen-year-old tribute girl, Clementine Mellark. I knew her from the bakery that her family runs. Mother used to send me there from time to time. But not any longer will there be the wide-eyed, innocent little girl spilling flour everywhere and decorating the cakes. Nor will there be the Seam boy to run errands and take care of his family._

_We are both headed off to the Games. We will both die. _

_The citizens of District 12 clapped quietly, almost as if to themselves. Their wrinkled, tired faces look at us with pity and grief. My eyes search out for my mother and sister in the crowd. I don't see them. The last glimpse I catch of the District 12 citizens is of their backs, walking away from the Justice Building where the reaping took place._

_Then the escort is shoving us into the building and the doors are slammed shut._

_Mother and my sister come to see me to say goodbye. Our farewells didn't last long. I didn't promise them anything; I only said goodbye, and good luck. They said the same. We aren't weepy, over attached folks, but we aren't hopeless either. They still hold hope that I can win the Games and come back, but they don't hold me to it if I don't._

_Their time is up and they left unceremoniously. I didn't blame them for it. The last time I see my sister was when a single clear tear runs down her hollow cheek and redness brimmed her eyes. I waved once and she waved back. The doors shut again._

_The mayor came to see me. I had never met him personally before, but I knew him to be a fair man. His sons worked in the mines with me for the past few months. _

_He said to me, "You have been chosen, Saul, son of Wolfram, to enter this Quarter Quell for a reason. It is not fate, but purpose that has brought you to the stage of the Games."_

_I stood up a little straighter in this great man's presence. "What is my purpose?" I asked._

"_Your purpose is to outlast the others, Saul. You must outwit and outlast. You are tougher than any of the other boys and you know what it is like to truly suffer. You have starved before, you have fought before, and you can do it again. We know you can."_

"_Who is this _we_?" I asked, not understanding._

_The mayor answered grimly, "All of District 12."_

"_They voted me into the Games because they know I have the best chances of surviving?"_

"_They voted you in because they know you _can _win," he clarified. "You can become District 12's very first victor; all you must do is use this." The mayor taps his head, gesturing to my own mind. _

_I nodded and shook his hand. A Peacekeeper dragged the mayor out of the room by his shirt cuffs. The hour for visiting was up and the escort led Clementine and I into a fancy car which delivered us to the train station, which brought us here and to this very moment._

_Each second is still as clear as glass in my mind._

* * *

The District 11 chariot lurches forward, and moments later, so does ours. Clem grasps the railing tightly and I see a bead of sweat creep down her forehead. Poor girl. This must be terrifying for her. All she can do is see thousands of crazy, colorful people jumping off the walls and cheering for her sacrifice.

Once our horses lead the chariot out of the stables and into the parade, my eyes instantly flash to the screens where our images are enlarged. I see our ridiculous costumes, with giant headlamps and orange miner suits. When my stylist brought out the orange jumpsuits, I wanted to scream at her that the miner get-up we wear into the mines aren't even close to these orange things. Some can't even afford good suits, so they wear heavy jackets and tough pants that won't tear under harsh conditions. Especially in the winter, those men and women are the most exposed to the extremes down in the mines.

But my stupid stylist has apparently never visited 12, due to its "barbaric ways". Her words, not mine.

I wish I could spit out a few words about her beloved Capitol. I bet she would _love_ that.

Like a small child, I wish I could go home more than anything else in the world.

The horses trot along the runway at a slow pace so the Capitol citizens can watch all the tributes at once. The people disgust me. One man has a fat cat on his shoulder in the crowd, and another woman wears a headlamp not unlike mine. Strange happenings in the Capitol.

Finally, our chariot pulls up along the others and President Aufidius makes his annual statement. This one is more special than the others, being that we are the first Quarter Quell tributes.

"Welcome, tributes!" he dictates loudly. His booming voice, amplified by speakers, echoes across the whole place, hushing the crowd. They take his subtle cues on when to cheer. "Happy Quarter Quell and may the odds be _ever _in your favor."

I don't like the way they say that. It gives me the shivers every single time.

Clem stumbles out of the chariot when we are dropped off at the Training Center. Her eyes are wide and blue like the sky when she looks up at me. I hop down from the chariot. I want to say something, but I know nothing good will come out of my mouth. I am not good at handing out advice, and that transfers over to my lack of ability in taking advice.

Instead, we stand there awkwardly until our stylists and escort find us among the other lost sheep.

"You two looked fabulous in my opinion," our escort pipes out.

Our stylists agree wholeheartedly. I roll my eyes and Clem just stares at them incredulously. I wish I was deaf so I wouldn't have to listen to these three squawk in their Capitol accents all day long. I think my ears might start bleeding.

"Let's get you two up to the apartment," my stylist says after a while. "I'm starving."

I scoff. "I highly doubt you know the true meaning of starvation," I murmur under my breath. No one hears me. That's a shame.

Our escort leads Clem and I up to the twelfth floor, where our apartment is. We get the top floor because we are from 12. That's nice, I suppose. I still detest them.

Over dinner, our stylists and escort chat about nonsense and Clem and I gorge ourselves. There is even more food here than on the train! Why can't some of this surplus of food go to the starving kids in the poor districts of Panem? Oh wait, I know. It's because the Capitol is evil.

That's the understatement of the century.

At last, I get tired of being ignorant. I don't care if it's rude, but I go ahead on and ask, "What are your names?"

Everyone stops. A fork slips out of someone's hand and it clatters to the floor. Gee, it was just an innocent question. You'd think I opened up a chasm in the ground and asked who wanted to jump in. I think I buried my own grave here. Now I have to listen to them talk even more.

"That is not the epitome of manners, Saul," my escort states angrily. She storms out of the room and we hear a door slam in the distance.

The escorts take it more smoothly. "My name is Mariana," my stylist says.

"And mine is Malvolio, but you may call me Mal," says Clementine's stylist.

I nod thankfully. "Thank you."

Clem continues to stare at the doorway where our escort escaped through. She looks around at everyone in confusion, but finally settles on eating again. I want to feel bad for her, but I know that if I was in her position, I wouldn't want pity for anyone either.

Our stylists explain that the escort's name is Olivia. I will remember that for next time.

"I would suggest being a bit nicer to her," Mariana says. "You don't have a mentor, so Olivia will be your only way of getting sponsors for the Games." She shrugs. "Just a thought."

"You're right," I realize, and then sigh. "I hate being nice to people. It's so hard."

The stylists laugh as though I am telling a joke. Clem excuses herself silently from the table and slips off to her room. She probably feels very lonely right now. I know I do.

No, I don't care that much. We'll only be here a few weeks or so longer before we'll both be dead. I have better things to do than try to become friends with people.


	7. Chapter 7

**Fiorella Gage, District 1**

I awake as early as possible for the first day of training. I am so excited that I could barely sleep anyway. It's like the first day at the Academy all over again. My mind is buzzing and my hands itching for lethal weapons.

Liam strolls into the dining room of our apartment an hour or so after I do. I have already eaten a light breakfast, so I wait eagerly on the edge of my seat for him to hurry up. Once Liam eats and our mentor gives us a hint of advice, we can go down to the training room.

Liam, however, has different ideas it seems. He piles loads of food onto his plate and takes his sweet time savoring each bite. I want to shove the intricate dishes down his throat and sprint off down the halls, but that wouldn't do. I am Fiorella Gage, not some animal from an outlying district.

Cherry, our escort, and Shimmer, our mentor, waltz into the room at the same time Liam finishes his feast. I spring to my feet, ready for action. Watching Liam eat for an hour hasn't dulled my anxiousness in the least. I am ready to prove my worth. I am ready to fight.

"Whoa there," Shimmer says to me, sitting down next to my district partner. "Let's sit down and talk a bit about strategies for today."

"But I know my strategy already," I explain impatiently. "I will be ruthless. I will be a killer. I know I can do it."

Shimmer smiles sadly and gestures for me to sit down again. "But is that the best angle for you to play, Fiorella?"

This confuses me. "Of course," I answer automatically, although I am now unsure of myself.

"Sit down. We'll discuss."

I join them at the table. Cherry talks up our performance in the Tribute Parade, and I must agree with her. We looked absolutely dashing, sparkled with gemstones and other precious, luxurious fashion items. My gown, Cherry gushes, is all the talk of the Capitol women. She says nothing of Liam's bedazzled tuxedo, to which I sneer at. I finally bested him at something.

I remember Liam back home at the Academy. I remember joining at the same age. We were both eight years old when we joined, and each year, he grew stronger and stronger as did I. But Liam was different from the other meaningless kids trying to train. Liam trained longer and harder than the others, almost as much as me. I spent long hours in the Academy's weapons station, and still he can throw a spear with more accuracy than I ever could. The only thing I am better at than Liam is intelligence and strategy. I have a more level-headed approach to situations than that arrogant hot-head.

Shimmer turns her attention towards me. "So, a ruthless killer is what Fiorella plans to be in the Capitol's eyes, is it true?"

I nod silently, awed by my mentor's subtle wisdom. She won the Games only three years ago, but she didn't turn to alcohol or drugs. She stayed smart and fit. I admire her more than anyone knows. Even I didn't realize it until I stared straight into her knowing expression and became stunned by her vast knowledge.

One look was all it took to paralyze me under the eyes of my mentor.

Shimmer inspects me for a moment before answering. "No, I don't think that's quite right for you, dear Fiorella. I don't think so at all."

"What do you think?" I ask eagerly, eyes trained on my idol.

"I think you should play the confident angle. You are already naturally beautiful, so you shouldn't have to stress that too much." Shimmer cups her hand under my chin, looking at me square in the eyes. She grins in satisfaction when my gaze doesn't lower in the least. "Yes, confidence and courage is perfect for you, Miss Gage. Confidence and courage."

After they discuss Liam's angle, which will be strong and focused, we head on down to the underground gymnasium. The only other tributes here are the other Careers, from Districts 2 and 4. We gather in a meeting to discuss an alliance.

"I am Fiorella," I say, trying to sound confident like Shimmer told me to.

"I am Liam," my district partner says, flawlessly executing the strength angle. Even when he speaks his voice is powerful. I so loathe him.

"I'm Romilda," the girl from 2 introduces herself. "This is Emil." She gestures to the boy tribute from 2. From the looks of it, they are both heavily-equipped, deadly assassins. They are both eighteen-years-old and fully-trained Careers. I can't wait to work with them.

The boy from 4 steps up next. "My name is Brendan," he says.

"And my name is Sunshine," the tiny girl next to him squeaks. She can only be twelve or thirteen at the most, and as skinny as a stick. Most definitely not Career material. Sunshine seems to sense that, so she quickly dismisses herself and goes off on her own.

Emil steps up to Brendan menacingly. "We will not be responsible for her life," he states simply.

Brendan nods quickly. "I agree. Sunshine should not be a Career."

"So this shall be our alliance?" Liam asks.

"Yes," Romilda states. She seems to have the leadership quality down-packed. "I nominate myself as the leader, if it does not perturb you others."

No one contradicts her. When the other tributes arrive, we gather around the head trainer, Erin, to hear her explain the rules of training. After her short speech, the tributes splinter off. I practically run to the weapons. I might not be an expert with them, but to intimidate, I have to appear confident with a sharp object in my grasp.

Brendan joins me at the axe station. The District 7 tribute is here as well. He wields the axe with immense skill and precision. Brendan and I watch in astonishment and amazement. For a long while, we just watch. When it is our turn to step up, we can't help but seem mediocre compared to the boy from 7. He picks up the axe without any difficulty at all, and throws it with such strength that the wooden target shatters into several small pieces when stricken. The boy from 7 hits the target each and every time.

I rush over to the target range where Romilda and Liam practice with spears. I notice that Romilda is quite effective with a spear, but she is also a lefty. I store that bit of information away for a rainy day. I quickly approach her and pull her away from the range to let her get a glimpse of the 7 boy throwing an axe at a moving target. He smashes it to bits.

"We should ask him to join us as well, Romilda," I suggest. "He never misses with that axe."

Romilda watches for a few more minutes before nodding solemnly. "You do it," she orders, and then rejoins my district partner at the target range. I stroll back over to the place where Brendan stands, observing the 7 boy tear a dummy apart with his axe.

Finally, the boy from 7 tires of this exercise and sets the weapon down. He begins to walk over to the survival stations but is stopped in his tracks by me.

"Hey, 7," I greet amiably. "We Careers like you. Care to join our alliance? We think you have a lot of talent."

7 sneers. "First, it's Rudyard, not 7. You don't see me calling you 1."

I grin. "Fiorella."

"Second, I would like to join your alliance. But don't bother me in training. I don't want the other outlying districts to know I'm in with the Career pack."

I like the sound of that. The Career pack. We sound like a vicious pack of wolves. I love it even more. I shake 7's hand and grin mischievously. I keep my confidence up as I answer.

"Welcome to the pack, Rudyard."


	8. Chapter 8

**Josef Inouye, District 3**

Yesterday was the first day of training. Mostly, I ran around with my district partner, Wren, and tried out all the survival stations. Our mentor, who won the Games just last year, tells us this morning that today is the day to find a weapon.

I decide to size up the competition as well today. One can never go wrong by being observant.

The Careers, of course, are a huge threat. No huge surprise there. The boys from 1, 2, and 4 have deadly down to a science. The girl from 2 is an expert with almost every weapon is seems, but the girl from 1 didn't impress me as much as the others. She is adequate with knives, but other than that, the only thing that stood out was her slightly arrogant attitude. She continues to hold her chin above the rest of us as if we are all below her.

Today, the Career girls strut past us again, eyes forward and faces grim. The girl from 2 peels off to the strength station and the girl from 1, to my blatant surprise, walks straight over to Wren and I at the poisonous plants station.

Wren glances quickly in my direction. Her eyes are wide and fearful. I wish I could convince her that there is nothing to worry about, that we aren't in the arena yet and this girl can't hurt us yet. But it would be awkward with the girl standing right here. I keep my mouth shut.

"Hi," Wren greets the mysterious girl in a voice so small it's near a whisper.

The girl looks at Wren, or glares rather, before scoffing and turning around to pay attention to the trainer. I don't like the way she treats us outer districts, like we're scum. I think it's about time someone said something.

It won't be me, that's for sure. I have enough on my plate to be worrying about upsetting some Careers and making them angry. I would like to think that I have more common sense than that.

"We're from District 3," I say instead, just to make conversation while sorting through our piles of poisonous and not poisonous plants. I toss a dark berry into the poisonous bowl and continue on. "I'm Josef, and this is Wren."

The girl mumbles "Fiorella" under her breath and scoops a handful of safe plants into the safe bowl without skipping a beat.

"District 1, right?" Wren inquires shyly, eyes trained on the plants and not the Career.

Fiorella ignores that question. For the rest of the time, the three of us sort the plants in uncomfortable silence. However, the awkwardness doesn't last long. Fiorella finishes sorting her plants in no time and is sashaying away from us.

"Well, that was odd," Wren murmurs to herself. She focuses on her plants and finishes sorting before me. The trainer checks our work when we both are done and praises us for getting them all correct. We thank him just as the head trainer calls the tributes to attention. Lunchtime.

The cafeteria is made up of several picnic tables spread out across the lunch room. Surrounding the tables are carts and trays varying in foods and delicacies of all kinds. Wren runs off to the trays while I observe the other tributes.

The Careers sit together at one table, five in all. A few are spread around sitting alone. One group that catches my eye is the tributes in the far corner of the lunchroom. Different tributes from faraway districts eat huddled together, whispering confidentially. The boy from 12, the one with unhealthy pale skin and stormy eyes, walks past me, nudging my arm to break my trance.

"Hey, District 3," he says. "Care to join?" The 12 boy gestures over to the group in the corner. I nod silently, not knowing what else to say and momentarily forgetting about my absent district partner.

In the corner of the cafeteria, four tributes sit together. When the boy from 12 and I join them, they all look up. I don't recognize any of them by face or name. The reapings were such a jumble that most of the tributes slipped my mind. It's a wonder I remembered this boy next to me is from 12.

"District 3 would like to join," the boy from 12 announces to the group, sitting himself next to a girl, probably his district partner. "I thought we could use some brains, so I recruited him."

One girl holds out her hand and smiles kindly. She has the kind of smile that makes you want to smile back. "I'm Wynter, from District 6."

I shake her hand. "My name is Josef."

Another girl waves from her seat. "Freedom, District 11." I nod respectfully.

"That's Callum," Wynter says, pointing to a boy draining his soup bowl like he's never eaten before. "Who seems to have a problem with the soup." Callum grins at her and then nods toward me. I notice he sits a bit further from the rest of us and fidgets often.

"My name is Clementine, but you can call me Clem," says a girl with a long blonde ponytail pulled back from her thin face. She explains that she is from District 12.

"And I'm Saul," says the slightly mysterious boy from 12. Unlike the rest of us outer district tributes, he is tall, strong, and older than the rest of us. My best guess is that he is eighteen or near it, and his district voted him into the Quell for a reason. To have a winner.

I sit with this little group as they explain their plan to me. To be a part of their group and hear their secret plans makes me a part of their alliance, I'm guessing. They tell me all about their ideas to survive in the possible arenas and eventually defeat the Careers. Right now, they only have five members, and unless we recruit more, which is potentially dangerous, we have six members. We outnumber them, but that is considering all our allies are still alive and so are theirs.

The practical part of my brain is telling me that this is the right move. My mentor even told us to get in an alliance if at all possible. Numbers are important in the Games, especially if they are tributes you can trust. From watching the Games over the years, I know that having someone to save your neck in tough situations can be the difference between life and death.

However practical this may be, there is a small voice in my head (no, I'm not that crazy, it's just a metaphor) screaming at me to run for the hills. Though I highly doubt the Capitol has hills.

That tiny voice becomes so loud; I can't hear another word anyone in our alliance is saying. My eyes shift over and gaze across the cafeteria, landing on one person in particular. Wren is sitting all alone, nibbling a roll of bread and hunching her shoulders to make her look one million years older. Finally, the head trainer lets us return to the stations and resume training.

I follow Saul and Wynter to the sword station. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Wren slinking away to the camouflage station in the opposite direction. I can't help but worry that she won't be ready with a weapon when the time comes.

I probably shouldn't worry about my district partner anymore, though. I need to worry about my alliance and myself. I'm not Wren's brother or even her friend. We're just district partners. I don't owe her my allegiance. I don't owe her anything.

Back at the apartment after an uneventful training day, our team, which includes our mentor, escort, and stylists, eats dinner in death-like silence. I've literally seen more enthusiasm in a graveyard. Every scrap of a silver fork against a crystal plate is shrill and grating for my ears to stand. Wren ignores me successfully the entire time, for which I am both thankful and sorrowful about.

On one, kinder hand, I feel in my heart that I should work together with my district partner and share the pain of the Hunger Games. We were voted in together, so it is expected that we should pair up together as an alliance during the Games. That would be the honoring thing to do.

On the other, more practical hand, my brain tells me to follow the intelligent path and join Saul and the others. If I join them, I will be protected in numbers that I can trust. Perhaps I can even win if I am one of the remaining members of the group at the end of the Quell. Maybe I can go home to my mother and sister and District 3.

It seems I have made my decision.


	9. Chapter 9

**Callum Thomas, District 6**

This day marks the last full day of training during our stay at the Capitol. It feels strangely melancholy to look at the cafeteria and training stations one last time. I never enjoyed this place, but I know I'll always rather be here than in that wretched arena that awaits me, both in reality and my nightmares.

I try to go to each station that I haven't before, and that is how I ended up here at the slingshot station next to a tiny little tribute girl. We learn to aim, fire, and reload our little slingshots in no time at all. For a good twenty minutes, the only sound elicited by us is the steady thumping of our stones hitting targets.

The tribute girl glances up at me from time to time but continues firing her little weapon. Both the tribute girl and I are sufficient with slingshots, but we are not comparable to the girl from 2, Fiorella, when she has a slingshot in her hands. For a fully-trained and bloodthirsty Career tribute, she is better with a slingshot than she is with a sword.

The tribute girl next to me hits the target right on the red dot.

"Nice shot," I compliment her graciously.

She nods, murmuring thanks. After another period of silence, she adds, "I'm Rosemary."

"I'm Callum," I respond, releasing another pebble from my rubber band weapon. It falters before the target and barely skims the outside of the bull's eye.

"I'm from District 8," Rosemary comments. Then I recognize her. She is the clumsy girl that tripped on the Gauntlet course yesterday. No one noticed but me, and I was too far away to be of any assistance. She was running the course when suddenly a trainer popped up out of nowhere and swung a padded club at the back of her wobbly knees, efficiently knocking Rosemary off her feet and causing the poor girl to face plant right onto the cold, hard floor. That can be more humiliating than hurtful, and she is very lucky that I was the only tribute who took notice of her spill.

"I'm from 6," I say, shaking her soft hand. I am not very big for my age, but I have long legs that tower over little Rosemary. We share the same freckles that are sprinkled over our noses, but her face is smaller and the sallow skin over her cheeks is spread very thin. My bright red hair contrasts with her dull dun-colored locks. Both oddballs in stature and appearance.

"I see you're a part of that big alliance with the outer districts," Rosemary says to keep the conversation flowing.

"Yes," I reply cautiously. I don't want to give up too much information about our alliance, but there really isn't much to say that will kill us right out of the gate.

"That's smart," she says softly, almost wistfully.

Should I invite Rosemary to join our alliance? I don't think so. I've only known her for a few minutes really. I decide against it at the last moment.

"I think I'll go try out the fire making station. See you around," I say, waving awkwardly.

Rosemary waves back and I turn away. Even as I walk away, I feel her stare boring into my retreating figure. Too late to look back now. It's always too late.

Starting a fire doesn't take much time for me. Matches are for wimps, so I go straight to the flint. That doesn't even take much time to learn, due to my job back home. In the deep, dark, musty factories of 6, I worked for five hours a day after school as a mechanic. I started sparks all day long on my machine, built for mass producing airplane parts.

I know what some might be thinking. But aren't you a freaky claustrophobic, Callum? Wouldn't the cramped conditions of factories and barely any sunlight make you go mad? How did you survive all those years, since you were seven years old, until you finally were reaped?

Well, I can honestly say that it wasn't torture. It wasn't the brutality or intimidation of Peacekeepers that forced me to slave over those machines till the sun went down and the wolves came out and howled beyond the District 6 fence so many miles away. I didn't force myself to do anything.

I managed by merely surviving every little second and realizing the entirety of each and every minute. I understood that every nanosecond has meaning. The clock never stops ticking, even if the Capitol turns the power off for a few hours. Time is in our hands, and at the same time, it's continually slipping beneath our fingers.

How can this be?

We can never control time. Try as we may, the seconds tick by. The minutes turn into hours, and hours into days. Days stretch into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. So on and so forth, time expands and eternity extends. There will be no end of time. There was no beginning of eternity. Time has no end, so how can it have a beginning?

Yet, we have a certain hold on time that can never be shaken. We are all given time. Whether it is short or long, each living organism, from the tiniest butterfly to the tallest tree, from the smallest tribute to the biggest, everyone is handed an allotted amount of time that cannot be wasted.

Life isn't about securing our immortality. Life isn't about any one materialistic thing. Life is about _living_. It's about being with amazing people and not so amazing people. It's about finding your destination- the place you know you belong- and knowing that no matter how far away you get from that place, it'll always be a part of you and have a place in your heart. Life is about discovering the reason you were born and fulfilling your destiny.

Life is also about the bumps in the road that fate likes to throw at you. It is the biggest tests in life that define who you are as a person and what you stand for. The Quarter Quell is my test.

What's yours?


	10. Chapter 10

**Rosemary Mayfield, District 8**

This is the moment, I guess, to truly shine and make my district proud. This is the time to prove them all wrong and show people that I actually have a chance in this Quell. In the next few minutes, I will leave my blood, sweat, and tears on the floor of that gym, knowing that I will have given my all and that's all anyone can ask for.

Oh, who am I kidding? I'll probably end up stumbling over my own feet and burst out laughing about it while the Gamemakers stare at me like I have lost my mind. I wouldn't bet against that happening.

It's the private sessions.

"_Rosemary Mayfield_," the automated lady's voice calls in perfect enunciation.

I stand up slowly, shaking the idleness from my bones and building up my courage. I've heard it only takes twenty seconds of courage to do something extremely amazing. I am counting on that.

Entering the empty gym, I stroll in at my own pace and look around. Everything is in its place, but it's so much more quiet and cold than usual. I shiver in my training outfit, which is only a pair of thinly-sewed shirt and pants. Living in District 8, the textile district, for my whole life, I know that the Capitol can do better than these mediocre clothes. I wonder why they didn't dress us tributes up fancier for this splendid occasion. I guess they just don't care that much. We are doomed to die, after all. Even if this Quell doesn't kill us.

The Gamemakers watch me from their balcony above. Some are drinking merrily and others are stuffing their chubby faces with fine delicacies. A few are paying attention to me though, so I go ahead on my way.

First, I start a huge fire to catch the Gamemakers' attention. Once I build a big enough flame, I leave it there to burn for a while. Nothing too flammable is near, so I leave it be. Next, I visit the knot tying station. It is there that I conjure up one of my more brilliant ideas.

Like a chick hatched from an egg, an idea pops into my mind and flourishes. Quickly, I weave a net together and place it in on a fake tree from the camouflage station. From there, I push the tree to the fire I previously started. I catch a glimpse of the Gamemakers' amused and awed expressions. I love it that they have no idea what is coming next.

I rush over to the weapons. I find an excess amount of cloth dummies. I choose one at random, grab a sharp knife, and race back over to my perfectly set trap. Climbing the trees of the fake tree, I throw the dummy forward at just the right moment, when the blaze flares up radiantly.

The dummy is caught up in the net and becomes dangled from the tree. From the branches, I saw the rope off and the net falls into the flames beneath it. I climb down and jump off the tree, nearly tripping and stumbling down. I catch myself at the last moment and prevent myself from crashing into the fire.

Once on flat ground again, I hurry away from the commotion I caused. I turn back to evaluate the Gamemakers' faces. Shocked would be an understatement. These Capitolites are absolutely _stunned _by my little trick. With wide eyes and dropped chins, they watch the dummy become enveloped by swirling flames and smoke fill the room. Even I become slightly teary-eyed from the smoke.

The Head Gamemaker dismisses me. I curtsy and take my leave out the back door. From behind my back, I hear the sound of my fire being extinguished. The sound of canisters being sprayed is the last thing I hear before the door closes behind my back.

I wonder what they thought of that.

I can say one thing for myself. I surely surprised them. No one expected a little spit fire from District 8, let alone me.

The elevator ride takes me up to the eighth floor where Levi and the rest of our team await my return. My bubbly escort, Augusta, bombards me with questions about my private session. I merely shrug and turn to Levi.

"What'd you do?" I inquire innocently.

He tries to shrug it off like I did to Augusta. "Nothing impressive."

"I highly doubt that."

Augusta interrupts us by turning on the television. "The training scores are up!" she squeals delightedly. Levi rolls his emerald eyes and I giggle at them. The stylists hang back, very easy-going. Despite the circumstances, I feel like I'm a part of something here that I haven't experienced in a long time. Like a family.

Sure, I have Aunt Judianna and my baby brother back home, but how are we a family if Aunt Judianna and I barely ever see each other and my baby brother can't talk yet. All he can do is cry for more food, something we can never provide enough of. I feel like here in the Capitol with Levi and Augusta, I can enjoy a family for the limited time I have left on this planet.

"_District 1. Liam Otto, with a score of 10. Fiorella Gage, with a score of 8._"

Predictable. I don't even know why we bother watching the Careers' training scores. We all know they will blow us all away and gain most of the sponsors.

"_District 2. Emil Rodriguez, with a score of 9. Romilda Fabretti, with a score of 10._"

I repeat, very predictable. I could've guessed those scores with earplugs in and a blindfold on.

"_District 3. Josef Inouye, with a score of 7. Wren Woodrow, with a score of 4._"

I glance over at everyone's slightly shocked expressions. Levi raises his eyebrows and comments, "Impressive."

"_District 4. Brendan Ewing, with a score of 8. Sunshine Dix, with a score of 5."_

And we're back to predictable again. I know that that Brendan kid got in with the Careers, but his district partner didn't. Their contrasting scores prove she doesn't belong with them.

"_District 5. Wyatt Mann, with a score of 3. Amalthea Carter, with a score of 3."_

"_District 6. Callum Thomas, with a score of 5. Wynter Sequoia, with a score of 7."_

I find this interesting. I remember talking to Callum during the third and final day of training with the other tributes. We practiced at the slingshot course together. He told me he was in the "outer district alliance", as people are beginning to label it. I believe that Wynter girl is a part of it, too. They'll be a force to reckon with.

"_District 7. Rudyard Moore, with a score of 9. Cassiopeia Astor, with a score of 4._"

Ah, the outlying district Career boy. I observed this particular tribute closely over the past few days. He was a great mystery to me in the beginning, but now his motives are all too clear. Rudyard wants to get home to his beloved District 7, and there's nothing that is going to get in the way. Not the Games, not this Quell, not anything. By joining the Careers, he probably thinks he's halfway home. He's wrong.

We are next. Levi's foot is tapping like crazy. My fingers are drumming so fast that they blur. Augusta squeals in either excitement and elation or anxiety and impatience. I don't really know, or care. Probably all four.

But none of that matters as the announcer opens his mouth again.

"_District 8. Levi Pliny, with a score of 6_."

Everyone cheers for Levi. Six is a very good score for an outer district tribute. I'm sure he'll do fine in the Quell; maybe even go back home if the odds are in his favor.

I hold my breath. My name is on the announcer's lips.

"_Rosemary Mayfield, with a score of… 10!_"

Huh?

The room erupts in ecstatic cheers all around me. My stylist, Viggo, picks me up and twirls me around in the air. Augusta swoons dramatically. Levi's content grin grows into a full-out smirk, and his stylist, Polly, catches Augusta before she faints and falls. Everyone congratulates me several times over. The announcer on the television is blatantly surprised. I think we all are, especially me.

"Rosemary, what on earth did you do?" Augusta inquires exasperatedly once she is sitting up again.

"Let's watch the rest of the scores," I suggest, smirking mysteriously like Levi, "and then maybe I'll tell you."

"Good idea," she agrees.

The startled announcer recovers from my outstanding score at last and continues on with the rest of the tributes' scores.

"_District 9. Nightingale Osbourne, with a score of 3. Amarante Davies with a score of 2. District 10. Rocco Tabby, with a score of 4. Antonietta Anderson, with a score of 1._"

District 9 and 10 have never been too exciting or crowd favorites. Neither was District 8 in the past, but I think Levi and I might wipe the board of all other tributes from 8. I sure hope that either Levi or I come out of this alive to give 8 its very first victor.

"_District 11. Forest Ornella, with a score of 7. Freedom Remmington, with a score of 6._"

District 11 tributes, in particularly good years, are also stand outs. If I recall correctly, Forest is one of the bigger tributes in size, even if he is only sixteen. He towers over a few of the eighteen-year-olds from the Careers districts. Forest is a mere year older than me, yet he is near seven feet tall and I'm a measly five feet tall. I guess it's all about genetics.

"_District 12. Saul Rigel, with a score of 8. Clementine Mellark, with a score of 5._"

In a flash, the television is flicked off and all eyes are on me. My escort, district partner, and the two stylists gather round where I sit innocently, awaiting an explanation for my incredibly high score. All the sudden attention causes me to stare at my shoes.

"So, what happened in your private session?" Augusta asks jittery, and so energetic that if she could bounce off the walls, it looks like she would.

"Oh, I don't know…," I trail off in suspense, but also due to my modest nature.

"Come on, Rosemary!" Viggo whines, kneeling down by my arm chair. "Go ahead and tell us."

Levi is the only patient one here. He snickers lightly at these funny little Capitolites, but then his shining green eyes shift to my gaze. Levi isn't as intense as the others, but I can practically see the burning curiosity behind his glowing emerald eyes.

I realize I would rather share my private training session story to Levi than anyone else. In fact, I don't even look at the others while I speak. In my mind, I'm telling my story to Levi and Levi only. Perhaps it's the cute, boyish appearance, with the disheveled golden locks of hair and piercing gaze, he acts for the Capitol. It's certainly enough to make me spill.

"I tied a net trap to a fake tree, and set a fire beneath it. I took one of those cloth dummies and threw it in the trap. Then, I climbed the tree, rather shakily I admit, and cut the trap. From there, the netted dummy fell into the pyre."

My story is met by three gaping and one amused expression. Augusta, Viggo, and the other stylist's mouths drop near to the floor in astonishment. Levi's toothy grin blossoms into a genuine smile.

"How did you think of that?" Levi asks in a low but shocked voice, folding his arms over his chest in thought. The movement is so natural that he does it absentmindedly.

I shrug shyly. "Honestly, it just came to me randomly. I just set the fire, and then I left it to tie some knots. I don't know… Some ideas just come to me."

"Brilliant!" Augusta seems to have found her peppy voice again. "Just brilliant! You're a gold mine, Rosemary Mayfield!"

And that is how my interview dress and angle came to be. Brilliantly golden.

* * *

**A/N: Who knows where the "twenty seconds of courage" line comes from? By the way, huge thanks to my reviewer, iloverueforever. You're reviews are awesome to hear and thank you so much. **


	11. Chapter 11

**Freedom Remmington, District 11**

"You're joking, right?" I ask nervously. "Please tell me this is a joke."

My insane escort, Paprika, giggles so loudly and annoyingly that I think my ears might start bleeding. She shoves the death trap shoes at me, forcing me to put them on my poor feet. "Not at all, silly! Go on, put the heels on! You'll look gorgeous!"

Not one exclamation point was exaggerated in those last few remarks made by my ridiculous escort.

As I attempt to place these pointy heels on my feet, I ponder about Paprika. Seemingly everything about this woman is ridiculous, from her fashionable pink head down to her sparkly turquoise toenails. She strangles her body everyday by wearing those daring heels that could kill and those skin tight clothes.

I think I'd rather be in the Games than live in the Capitol for longer than I'm already allotted. I am not going to lie; the food here is marvelous. I literally marvel at the courses ordered on a normal day. But I wouldn't live here if I had a choice. Between the bewildering fashion and entertainment, I would choose anywhere else, even District 11 who disowned me.

No one wants the sickly little girl from 11 except one place that is continually inviting me over and over in my nightmares. The arena. I can't stop thinking about it. Will it be to my advantage, or disadvantage? There's no way to know until I step foot in there tomorrow morning. These days are flying by at a rate incomprehensive to me.

"Now walk," Paprika orders when the heels are strapped onto my feet.

I take a deep breath and focus on walking straight. We are in the confines of my room, but I still feel as if I'm in real danger.

The moment I look down to steady my balance, Paprika screeches like a banshee.

"No, no, no! Eyes up!"

I keep my eyes trained on a point on the far wall. Heel to toe, I strut to the other side of the room as smoothly as possible. Paprika watches like a hawk ready to strike. She helps me, or screams at me rather, until I get the hang of these deadly shoes. I walk for miles in my bedroom before my escort allows me a water break.

When walking is mastered, Paprika drags me to the wretched wardrobe. At first, I am terrified that all the outfits I am scheduled to try on will be as horrendous as the outfits some Capitol people wear. But when I observe the elegant gowns Paprika throws at me, I decide that they aren't half bad. In fact, I find I almost enjoy trying on all different dresses and spinning around in them.

Paprika selects about fifteen dresses for me to try on. My stylist has a lot of material to work with, but he first needs sizes and the like. That's where this comes in. If I find a certain fabric and size that I like the best, my stylist will work off that.

The first few dresses are simple beauties. I don't like the extremely long trains because they deterred me from dancing and twirling at free will. We quickly eliminated all other gowns with long skirts. That limited our choices down to nine dresses.

To my preference, we also tossed all dresses with jewels, gems, or other unnecessary accessories decorated on them. I hate the feeling of being dragged down by the heavy weight of the precious gems, and the light reflected too brightly for my taste. Down to two dresses.

One is a muted yellow color and the other is cerulean blue. Both have a quiet aura of pulchritude surrounding them, but I choose the yellow one over the blue one. The length of the skirt is perfect, falling right beneath my knocking knees. The material is lighter than a feather but elegant at the same time. The sleeves are short and the neckline isn't too low for comfort. I feel like a royal princess, lovely and fair.

The dress is absolutely perfect. I wish I could convince my stylist to let me wear this for the interviews instead of anything else. Even Paprika agrees with my choice.

She gently combs my long, auburn hair with her fingers, bringing a few stray curls in front of my thin shoulders and sweeping the rest back. "The yellow contrasts beautifully with your hair, and the size is perfect. I thought it would take longer to find something for someone as tiny as you, but it hardly took any time at all!"

I smile in genuine thanks to my escort. No matter how crazy she is, Paprika has become a true friend to me. Somewhere between the chiffon and satin skirts, we bonded and have become close friends. I know that she will be convincing all her friends to sponsor me. She even said so herself. That's when I knew she is really on my side throughout my journey here.

I check the time. It's nearly time for the interviews to start. Without a stable mentor, for Zipporah has gone off the edge with her precious drugs, Forest and I haven't got anyone to talk about for strategies. I figured I would just answer the interviewer's questions as honestly as possible and have as much fun as possible. That's what this is about, right? The interviews are just for fun and for advertising for sponsors. That is what I continue to tell myself whenever the nerves come back to flutter like butterflies in my stomach.

"Oh, my!" Paprika exclaims. "It's time to go! Quick, get Forest and get to the elevator. I need to prepare myself. It seems that we will just have to make do with this dress instead of what your stylist was preparing."

I smile innocently, and then race off to find my district partner. I will get to wear this breathtaking dress after all.

I discover Forest waiting in the dining room of the apartment, sitting and discussing something with his stylist. I wonder where mine went off to. I guess it doesn't matter now. I rouse Forest and we meet Paprika at the elevator.

"You look nice," I comment to Forest as the elevator flies down to ground level. He does look very nice all cleaned up, dressed in a formal tuxedo and a forest green bow tie. His dark hair was combed back, but that's about all the alterations they made. Forest is so naturally handsome that not much tinkering is necessary.

I, on the other hand, took hours of makeup and hair time to get ready. That was taken care of before Paprika forced me into these terrible heels.

Forest grins down at me kindly. Over the past few days, Forest has become like an older brother to me. We already agreed to become allies in the arena, to my great relief. It was a mutual idea for protection.

"Thanks, Free," he says, using my nickname he created. I like it a lot. "You look beautiful yourself."

_As beautiful as a scrawny, sickly thirteen-year-old girl can look_, I think to myself, but I guess he's right. It's the work of pounds of makeup blended together and five-inch heels to make me look more mature. Of course, on the inside, I'm still that little girl from 11.

Paprika hurries us down to the stage and we line up with the other tributes. We are the last ones to arrive, with moments to spare. Just as Paprika wishes us good luck and is ushered off stage, the lights dim, the crowd roars to life, and my heartbeat picks up the pace.

All of the tributes, in a single file line, walk onto the stage and sit in our designated seats. The interviewer, Washington Heatherette, or Wash for short, prances on stage and warmly welcomes the audience to the very first Quarter Quell.

The show begins as the District 1 girl steps up to the spotlight.

**A/N: The answer to last chapter's question (where did the "twenty seconds of courage" quote come from?) is **_**We Bought a Zoo, **_**one of my personal favorite movies. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, as I had fun writing it. The highly-anticipated Quarter Quell is approaching!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Saul Rigel, District 12**

I am scheduled last for the interviews. I am not sure if this is a curse or a blessing. Either I'll screw up and be remembered the most clearly, or I'll steal the spotlight and become a Capitol phenomenon. The more I think about it, the less I care. I can still win this thing with intelligence and luck, if it happens to be on my side. I don't need the money and power of Capitol snobs.

Fiorella, the Career from District 1, leaves quite the impression on stage. Using her beauty to her advantage, her stylist dressed her very provocatively. However, if anyone bothered to pay attention to what was spewing forth from her mouth, they would've realized that this Fiorella girl is actually intelligent. She isn't just any pretty girl from 1. She is strategic and smart. I'll remember that.

The boy from her district is another mindless killer, with a touch of arrogance. That will get in the way. Also, mindless murdering isn't always the right way to go. If you do things without thinking in the Hunger Games, you end up dead. I don't bother to mark this boy as a worthy opponent.

Romilda and Emil from 2 are practically the same person: ruthless and bloodthirsty. Romilda has a dominating presence which contributes to her leadership qualities I have previously observed. Emil barely answers any questions at all. He merely stands up on stage, showing off his intimidation skills, which in my opinion, could use work.

This year's District 3 tributes intrigue me. Josef is a smart lad, joining our alliance and training his heart out. I regard him highly as a trusted friend. His district partner, Wren, reminds me a lot of Clem. They both are way too modest and shy. Wren barely squeaks out anything on stage to the interviewer. She blushes a lot, just like Clem.

One tribute from 4 is a Career, but the other isn't. I predict her to be a bloodbath victim, the poor thing. District 5 passes by quickly. My District 6 friends and allies, Callum and Wynter, mount the stage next.

Callum, to my surprise, holds the crowd's attention while speaking of how his time at the Capitol has changed him. He blathers on and I drone out until Wynter takes the stage. Wynter and I have become good friends over the training days and I hope her interview goes well.

It does, of course. Wynter is a natural at everything she tries. Quarter Quell? She's in it. Swords in training? She'll kick your butt. Talking about her personal life in front of an entire nation? She's all over it. Wynter amazes me, plain and simple. She twirls around on stage in her fancy black and white dress that reminds me of mockingjays from back home.

District 7 bores me to death. I want to scream that we already know that the boy is going to be a Career, but I refrain from disrupting the peace. I think I'll save that for the arena.

Finally, District 8 rolls along. I have been waiting for this moment ever since the tiny girl scored a ten in training. I need to know her secret so I can use it against her. Because no matter what anyone says, she's a threat.

Adorable, maybe, with her bright brown eyes and flowing floral dress, but still a threat.

The girl's name is Rosemary, I find out. It makes sense now. If one peers closely, you will see that the dress she wears is made entirely of cherry red roses that stands out from her silky pale skin. I hope they snipped all the thorns off. How dreadful that would be, to wear a dress made of thorns! I shake my head sadly. Beauty isn't worth pain.

Washington, the interviewer, continually brings up the topic of Rosemary's training score. All Rosemary ever answers with is a blush matching the color of her dress.

"Please, Rose, tell us about it," Washington pleads with puppy-dog eyes. I roll my own eyes at that sight.

Rosemary giggles. "I've already told you! It's a secret!"

Obviously. That's why everyone is trying to figure it out!

"Just a hint!" Washington's pleas are fast becoming annoying.

The girl from 8 finally sighs, and then tosses the crowd a mischievous look. She cocks an eyebrow playfully. "Well, let's just say that I like to play with fire."

The buzzer sounds and the crowd cheers for Rosemary. She bows gracefully and takes her seat. Her district partner stands out for being cute and funny to the Capitol ladies. I actually see some swoon in the front row.

District 9 and 10 are fairly uneventful. The boy from 11, Forest, has an intimidating first impression, but he is later revealed to be kind and optimistic. He seems like a generally good guy, the kind that I would actually hang out with back home. I mark him as an opponent straight away to my extreme displeasure.

Everyone just about falls in love with Freedom, the girl from 11. Her whole interview sticks in my mind, down to the last word. Her instant charm captivates the audience and even the other tributes. Washington is one lucky guy for getting to talk to her. I wish I could.

After first greetings, Washington asks Freedom about her interests and hobbies back home. Freedom, dressed in a striking yellow dress, smiles warmly and answers, "I'm not good at most things, but I love to spell."

"Spelling words?" Washington asks curiously.

Freedom smiles slightly, nodding shyly. Her auburn curls bounce with every move of her head. "I practice all the time when I get fainting spells or am too sick to work in the orchards or fields during harvest time."

Washington smiles. "Well, are you up to a little challenge?"

"Sure," Freedom easily agrees, straightening up in her seat.

"Okay. We'll have a little spelling competition. You versus me. How about it, Freedom?"

The little girl nods enthusiastically, and the contest begins. The contestants make up their own words, which the audience soon finds hilarious when Washington picks easy ones and Freedom picks ones that nobody knew existed.

"Xanthosis," Freedom says with a grin. "X-a-n-t-h-o-s-i-s." She taps her right foot with the beat of each letter.

"Vacuum," Washington replies. "V-a-c-u-m."

"Wrong! Vacuum has two u's!" Freedom cheers happily. The crowd laughs and applaud in appreciation. I notice a few other tributes ogling.

"Apple. A-p-p-l-e." Seriously, Wash?

"Chlorophyll. C-h-l-o-r-o-p-h-y-l-l." Even I clap at that one. That girl is one awesome speller!

"Chair. C-h-a-i-r."

"Hydrophyte. H-y-d-r-o-p-h-y-t-e." Freedom is on fire!

"Cake. C-a-k-e." Wash smirks, earning boisterous laughs from the crowd.

Freedom doesn't stop. She's on a roll. "Staphylococci. S-t-a-p-h-y-l-o-c-o-c-c-i. Ursprache-,"

"Whoa there!" Wash relents at last, declaring Freedom the winner. He holds her hand in the air like she's the victor already. The victor of spelling. "I give you, Freedom, the queen of words!"

Everyone laughs joyously. Freedom's interview is by far the best and wipes out everyone else's hard work. With that glimmering smile and dazzling personality, Freedom is like a breath of fresh air. The crowd loves her to bits and most of the tributes with actual hearts can't help but adore her.

When the noise settles back down, Wash asks, "How did you ever learn all those words?"

The room is exceptionally quiet. People are leaning forward in their seats to hear this girl's response. Anything that comes out of her mouth is insightful and intelligent.

"That's my little secret, Washington. Maybe if I come back, I'll let you in on it."

Perfect. Bribe the audience into loving her and wanting her back. Then they'll sponsor her and she'll have the resources to win. Brilliant.

Holy cow. Clem and I have to follow that.

Clementine bravely shakes Wash's hand and chats with him. The crowd is still recovering from Freedom's extraordinary interview that it's hard to pay close attention to Clem. Still, she is absolutely angelic in her glittery white dress. Combined with her blonde hair and blue eyes, Clem is truly an angel on the stage. The light hits her in just the right angles that illuminate her beauty and not the Capitol engineered part of her. And even though I was too dazed to realize what she said, I'm positive it was golden.

And then I'm up on the stage, shaking Wash's hand and sitting down next to him in front of a huge crowd and an entire nation.

"Welcome, Saul! How do you find the Capitol?" Wash smiles so widely that it takes up the whole bottom half of his face.

"It's quite the grindhouse. I could hang here." I lean back comfortably in my chair, relaxing and kicking my feet up on the little glass coffee table in front of us.

The crowd laughs and cheers. I even hear a few whistles. To play up the audience, I straighten my gray tie and flash them a star struck grin. The Capitol girls scream louder.

Maybe this will be my key. Funny and handsome.

No, I think I'll just wing it. I find that's always more fun to improvise. It keeps it exciting and keeps people on their toes.

"Why of course!" Wash exclaims, chuckling himself. "Now, tell us about why your district voted for you, Saul."

Huh. This was unpredicted. He didn't ask any of the other tributes this question, though it seems an obvious question to ask, due to the Quell's circumstances. I let the crowd settle as I think. I put a lot of careful thought into my response. I even sit up to answer it, just to act professional.

"You know, Wash, that's a very good question. A good question that would better be answered by District 12 themselves. But since they can't, I'll tell you." I take a deep breath, allowing the Capitol people to soak up the information as I throw it at them. "The mayor said goodbye to me after the reaping. He told me something significantly important. Something I never knew about and would have never thought possible."

Wash inquires, "What did he tell you?"

"He told me that my district voted for me for a reason. He said they choose me to enter the Quarter Quell for a purpose and with a purpose. He told me that it is my duty to represent 12 in the Games and win for them, because no one else has ever done that. The citizens of my district believe that I, out of all the other boys, would do the best job to survive the arena than anyone else. That is what the mayor told me."

"And do you believe him, Saul?"

I stare deep into Wash's dark eyes just to unnerve him in this suspenseful moment. I try my cards at acting like an inspirational, moving figure. So far, it's working pretty well. "I counter that question with my own: how could I not believe him? How could I not have trust in the district that is all I know? The world is a tough place, and the citizens of Panem are no strangers to the pain we all suffer. But under no circumstances do I believe District 12 would leave me in the dust. We take care of each other back home. We are all family."

Wash becomes confused. He wouldn't know this because Capitol residents don't share anything like we share pain, hunger, sorrow, and death. "How is that so? How could a whole district be a single family?"

"We are all connected. By loss and by bloodshed. We are made a family, not by blood, but by suffering. Every single person is 12 could tell you the same thing. And that is through each tough winter, and every brutal summer, we are there for our neighbors. I hope that 12 never loses that. That bondage that we share. Born in 12, survive in 12, and die in 12, we do it together."

"There isn't higher or lower class?"

"Sure there is. That girl you talked to a minute ago? She is ranked higher than me in 12. That doesn't hide the fact that there is pain. Everyone experiences it differently. Her family still goes hungry the same as mine. And just because she lives in a better part of town doesn't mean we can't be best friends." At this last part, I smile over at Clementine. She returns the smile.

Even though I positive the Capitol people don't have a clue about what I'm saying, they cheer when my speech is over. My buzzer sounds and I sit back down. The Capitol loves us tributes, but they love us more when our blood is spilt. Lovely, aren't they?

We all give one last bow before Washington signs off, the lights come back on, and the curtains fall. We are ushered out and the show is over.

Tomorrow morning, the Quell begins.

* * *

**A/N: Another trivia question: Who else, besides Freedom, spells words by keeping time? (Hint: Her initials are A.A. and she's AMAZING.) Check out my poll for this story and vote for who you think will win this Quarter Quell.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Fiorella Gage, District 1**

When we get back to the apartment after the interviews, I strip down out of my dress and change into some sweats and a simple shirt. They loaded are dressers with tons of clothes, so I help myself to whatever I need. I take a quick shower to scrub all the makeup off my face. When it's all gone, I feel completely clean and fresh.

Liam, my mentor, and my escort sit in the living room when I come back out. The stylists went home, bidding us good luck tomorrow morning and promising that they will see us bright and shining.

My mentor, Shimmer, invites me to sit next to her and I gladly accept her offer. Over the past few days of training, she's given me nothing but excellent advice and tips. I am overly grateful for her help. I am confident in winning this Quell now, with Shimmer's guidance.

"I wanted to give you two some going away advice," Shimmer begins. "Be careful in the bloodbath. You could accidently get hit by a flying axe from your own ally. It happened in my Games, and the Career boy died immediately. He had a real chance of winning, but he didn't use his head. Use it wisely."

We nod solemnly. I resist, with all my power, the urge to yawn. It is so late already, and I just want to go to bed. The interviews were long and captivating, but now my energy is spent. I force my eyelids to obey my command and stay open. It takes more will power and strength than I could have ever imagined.

"Also, keep your head level in tough situations. Don't get angry too quickly. Emotions can get the best of you in terrible times. Trust me when I say don't befriend any weaklings."

Liam scoffs lightly, but his arrogance is dampened from his tiredness. "We have already had that drilled into our brains for years. Weakling will only bring us down."

Shimmer nods. "Outlying district tributes will lure you in with their innocence. You saw them out there tonight. The little rose girl and the spelling girl? That's their bait. Don't fall for it. It's not worth it to get your heart broken more than necessary."

Through her words, I see Shimmer as a very caring person. She is almost like a second mother to me and she is so naturally kind to everyone.

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. "Are you a mother, Shimmer?"

My mentor's lips twitch up into a far off smile. "I'm expecting to be one in a few months."

I smile sleepily. "If it's a girl, you should name her Glimmer, because that rhymes with Shimmer."

Shimmer chuckles, rubbing her eyes exhaustedly. She smooths the stray strands of blond hair from my eyes in a steady rhythm.

"No," she says, "I think I would name her something more original. Or maybe I'd name her Fiorella. That's a pretty name."

I light up on the inside. "Maybe she'll have a daughter named Glimmer, who will win the Games someday."

"Maybe."

Cherry sends us off to bed soon after. Lying in bed awake, I think back on Shimmer's kind words to me. She said she would name her daughter after me! That's the nicest gesture anyone has ever made to me in my short lifetime of seventeen years. It was an honor to be voted into the Quell by my district, but this is different. This was a heartfelt gesture, from Shimmer's heart.

I also think back on the words Shimmer told Liam and I before we were sidetracked. Shimmer advised us to beware of the outlying district tributes. She wants to protect us from heartbreak, because the other tributes are doomed to die, and if we come to know and love them, it will be even harder to move on than before.

A scene from Shimmer's Games comes to mind. Shimmer, a healthy, strong eighteen-year-old volunteer was allied with a girl and boy from District 5. When it came down to the three of them, Shimmer killed them to survive. I remember she cried for weeks when she came back home because the Victory Tour was canceled and rescheduled for a later date. I remember walking down the street to school and passing the Victor's Village, hearing weeping and cries of despair. I hadn't realized till now that that was Shimmer.

Shimmer doesn't want that to happen to me. She doesn't want me to survive, only to feel like I'm dead. I already feel no good tidings toward the other Careers. I'm only with them to survive longer and hunt down the others more efficiently. But maybe…

Just maybe that isn't the best idea. Maybe I should have second thoughts on my original plan. Maybe I shouldn't hang with the Careers. The bloodthirsty, ruthless, murdering, backstabbing Careers…

Maybe I can't handle them. Maybe they are just too intense for me. Maybe they will be my downfall. I gasp when a new realization comes to me.

I might not come out of this Quell unscathed. I might not come out at all.

A nobody from 7 has a better Career attitude than me! A innocent girl from 8 got a better training score than me! A scrawny girl from 11 did better in her interview!

I can't beat them. They are all too good for me. This Quell was a bad idea. I should have let someone else be voted in. I shouldn't have wanted this. I should have just gone to regular school and learned to spell some words like the girl from 11. I should have gotten a normal District 1 job as a hairdresser or something. I shouldn't have thrown my life away.

This is all my fault. I have ended my life with my own hand. All those speeches I gave to neighbors to convince them to vote for me were a mistake. I have made too many mistakes. I have been given too many second chances. My life is over now, because of my foolishness and hastiness to throw my life away.

All those other tributes didn't choose this. The power was out of their hands. They don't have any doubts. I do. I have doubts. The power was in my hands and I misused it. I choose this path and now I'm in too deep to drag myself out again. There is no getting out of this.

And even if I win, how much life will remain inside of me? I won't be the young, feisty Fiorella Gage of her youth. I will be Fiorella, the victor that murdered children. The Capitol will forever control me and I won't ever have the power placed back in my hands again.

My breath hitches in my throat as these thoughts run wild in my head. Finally, I clear my head and breathe evenly. I will never catch a wink of sleep if I continue to think like this.

No, these are just pre-Games jitters. I've heard stories about these. It happens to the best of them. Nothing too serious to worry about. Nothing at all.

I shut my eyes and hum a quiet tune until the world fades into dreamland.

* * *

**A/N: Answer to last chapter's trivia question: Akeelah Anderson from **_**Akeelah and the Bee. **_**Watch the movie; it's 100% recommended from this author. It's one of my favorite movies and very inspiring. I dedicate that last chapter to all those spellers out there. Thanks for reading.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Josef Inouye, D3**

My stylist hands me the tribute clothes for this year. The pants are sturdily made of denim, and the top is a basic gray t-shirt. We are given lightweight running shoes and a hooded jacket. Putting the clothes on, it finally hits me that today is the morning of the Quell.

Before entering the tube that will take me into the arena, my stylist puts a gently hand on my shoulder, stopping me.

"Here," she says. "Take this as your token. I noticed that you didn't have one, and I thought I'd give you something to remind you that there is a world going on outside the arena."

In the center of her palm is a copper coin with a face on it. I peer closely and recognize the oval-shaped eyes and long shocks of hair covering the face's brow. Startled, I look up at my stylist.

"Is this me?" I ask incredulously.

She smiles graciously and nods. "In honor of the brave tributes of the first Quarter Quell, the Capitol had these made for each tribute. They are only available for Capitol citizens to purchase, but I thought I'd give mine to you. It is for you, after all."

I embrace my kind stylist, and tuck the coin away for safe keeping in the side pocket of my jacket. I zip the pocket up so my token won't fall out. I step into the round tube and wave one last time to my friend, my stylist. She waves back until the tube ascends into the dark arena and I'm left alone.

I am not left alone for long.

We have sixty seconds to observe the arena before the gong sounds and all hell breaks loose. I frantically try to focus my eyes. The world slowly comes into view as the clock begins to tick backwards from sixty.

The shining Cornucopia stands, in all its glory, in the center of all the tributes. We tributes form a perfectly circular ring around the Cornucopia and all its goodies. Supplies are scattered about the premises. I catch a glimpse of the Careers eyeing the golden horn with hungry eyes and sadistic grins.

Outside of the ring of tributes are titanium walls, up to fifteen feet tall at least. There is no way to see above them, nor is there a way to climb over them unless you stacked some boxes from the Cornucopia and climbed that way. The titanium walls create weaving paths in all sorts of directions. There is neither sun nor moon. The only source of light we have are the dimly lanterns at the top of the walls.

It shouldn't be too extremely difficult to escape this. Simply avoid light radiating from the lanterns and the Careers won't be able to find and kill you.

The countdown in near forty, so I quickly scan the ring of tributes for my allies. Luckily for us, Saul and Wynter are right next to me, Saul to the left and Wynter to the right. Callum is across the way, but he isn't surrounded by Careers. I fear for little Freedom, who currently stands between Romilda from 2 and Liam from 1. The flash of determination is unmistakable in her eyes, though, so I don't doubt her ability to escape. I have confidence in her to find a way out.

Forest, who joined our alliance due to Freedom's request at the last minute, stands near Clementine. They nod to me, acknowledging our plan to meet up just outside the Cornucopia. We decided to ambush the Careers during the bloodbath when they would be distracted by the weaker tributes. That way, we will decimate their numbers and grab some supplies at the same time.

The countdown progresses to near zero. I glance over at my allies. Their grim faces mirror the same resolve in mine. It isn't confidence in our abilities that makes us so strong. We all know very well that any Career could pick us off if we were ever separated. No, we have bravery. The courage flames up in our hearts and drives us to do the impossible.

Fight the Careers.

"_3, 2, 1, 0._"

The gong sounds and I run.

Saul, Wynter, and I run into the nearest path opening. We sneak around so that we are still near the entrance to the clearing and the Cornucopia, but also so that we are completely hidden from the Careers fighting there. The others quickly find us in the chaos and we formulate our plan. We block out the ear-piercing screams and focus. We are in the Quarter Quell now. It's time to act.

"The lip of the Cornucopia faces away from us, and that's where all the weapons are stashed," Saul explains to us all. He is our unofficial leader, and he's perfect for the job. "Forest, Wynter, and I will sneak around the edges and attack whoever stands near there. While we have them distracted, Freedom and Josef will find whatever weapons they can and help us ward off the Careers. We have numbers on them, so that shouldn't be too risky. Clem and Callum, you two will gather survival supplies and help us fight after you have at least a week's worth of supplies." Saul looks up. "Got it?"

Everyone nods solemnly. I give the guy credit; that is a good plan for only coming up with it in a minute. The rest of us watch as Saul, Forest, and Wynter, our strongest members, sneak out of safety of the walls and hide behind the Cornucopia.

Right at the perfect moment, Saul leaps out and tackles the boy from 1, Liam. He struggles with the Career boy until he has a choke hold on him. Wynter shoves the girl from 1, Fiorella, over and kicks her in the stomach. The two other Careers are too busy killing weaker tributes to realize our little attack. Forest lunges at the leader, Romilda. They have such a heated battle that we watch rapt, almost forgetting that it's our cue to jump in.

We put the next phase of our plan into action. Freedom and I sprint out at full speed. I snatch a long, curved knife and she grabs a spear. I slash the arm of the boy from 2, and he lets out a blood-chilling screech. He sinks to the floor, cradling his bloody arm. I spin around to help Freedom, but I see she already has the job done. I watch helplessly as she throws the spear through the leg of the boy from 4. Both tributes are still alive, but they are terribly wounded.

By this time, I see Clem and Callum gathering supplies out of the corner of my eye. The boy from 7 comes out of nowhere and knocks Callum over, spilling food everywhere. Clem punches the unsuspecting boy in the eye and knees him in the groin. He falls to the ground and crawls away. Clem helps Callum up and they fill seven backpacks up with various supplies near the vicinity of the Cornucopia.

I turn my attention back to the heated fights. Freedom is helping tear Romilda off of Wynter, and Saul is helping Forest take on Liam and Fiorella. I have no idea how they changed sparring partner so fast, but they did somehow.

Suddenly, a force from behind knocks my feet off the ground. I fall all the way to the blood-splattered ground and hit my head. My vision swims and everything becomes a messy blur. Two rough hands find my neck and crush my throat. I wheeze and gasp for oxygen, kicking my legs and trying to roll over on my stomach. If I can throw my attacker off, one of my allies might be able to help.

Nothing works. My attacker has an iron grip on my jugular. Before I completely black out, I realize my left hand is absolutely free. My attacker is either pretty darn stupid, or he/she is assuming that I'm right handed. I uppercut the tribute's face, poking them in both eyes and causing his/her nose to bleed profusely. They immediately let go and I gasp for air. My stomach clenches up from the fast inhale of oxygen and I roll away.

The black dots and blurriness clouding my vision wears off. The room seems to be tilting a bit, but I still catch the wild blonde hair and blazing eyes. It was Fiorella who tried to choke me to death. Before either one of us can make a single move, someone is dragging me up and away by the arm.

"Let's go, Josef!" It sounds like Forest. I pick up my feet and sprint with them. Callum and Clem toss us each a backpack of supplies. Leading the way, Saul races into the first path he sees and follows the titanium walls.

Heavy footsteps pursue us. The Careers are following. When one comes into sight, Forest and I throw darts at them. Fiorella dodges them each time, but I see the others getting slowed down by darts in their arms or legs. Forest even catches the boy from 2 in the cheek. The Career boy pulls it out angrily, grinding his teeth in pure hatred. The push faster and faster and we can do nothing but run away.

As soon as we get a little lead ahead of our chasers, I count heads. Miraculously, all our allies made it out alive. Saul and Wynter are the swiftest of us, so they lead the way through this winding path. Freedom, Clem, and Callum follow not far behind, and Forest and I bring up the rear. A few of us are bleeding and have a few broken bones, but nothing too serious. I think the worst anyone got was Saul, who has a long gash across his chin and neck. As he runs, he holds his sleeve up to it to stop the bleeding. I sure hope Clem and Callum grabbed a first aid kit back there. We are going to need it.

Eventually, the Careers fall behind and we win the chase. Saul continues to lead us away at walking pace now. But as soon as we turn the next corner, a large wall stands in our way. We look around, bewildered.

Freedom points to the left. "That way."

Sure enough, the path weaves to the left and onward. To our great confusion, several other paths merge with ours and mix together, leading in countless other directions. The titanium walls never decrease in size or strength for as long as we walk on. At last, Saul sits us down to rest.

"We should be far ahead of the Careers," he begins. "They fell behind hours ago. We will be safe for a little while."

We nod and look to our faithful leader for more instructions as to what we should do now.

Saul turns to our supply-gatherers. "What did you two grab?"

Clem opens her backpack and points to various items. She explains that while she took survival things, like medicine, water purifiers, and weapons, Callum grabbed food. Clem spreads out a variety of weapons to choose from. Meanwhile, Callum hands out granola bars for a snack and describes the rest of what he brought.

"There wasn't much water, but I took all there was. The Careers might have some, but not enough to sustain for long. If we don't hunt them down, they will die from dehydration. Also, I brought dried fruit, granola, and canned food. The rest of the food down there will spoil in a few days, so I left them."

Forest pats Callum on the shoulder. "Nice work, man."

Saul nods to both of them gratefully. "Yes, thank you to both of you. Without your help, we wouldn't be off to such a great start. Now, let's assess injuries before moving on to find a safe place for shelter."

Most of my allies escaped with minor cuts and bruises. I shake off their worry over my head wound. It doesn't hurt anymore and I don't feel like I'm going to throw up, so I figure I'll be alright. Wynter stitches up Saul as best as she can. I attend to Freedom's broken fingers, wrapping them up with gauze. I assure her that they will heal quickly. She thanks me and we continue on our trek.

Saul and Wynter lead us down the path of walls. I ponder over the arena choice. There must be more to this than just tall walls and paths. I realize the Gamemakers' trick after we spend hours walking in circles.

This is a maze.


	15. Chapter 15

**Callum Thomas, D6**

Saul, our leader, gathers us after hours of walking. Combined with the fight, the whole group is exhausted. I don't know how he keeps going, being that he was injured the worst of us all. He lost the most blood and fought the hardest, and yet he still has energy to lead us on. It must be the adrenaline running through his veins. Whatever it is that drives Saul forward, it is beginning to wear off. Quickly.

Eight cannons blast, one after the other.

With no idea what to do or where to build a shelter, the group collapses in the middle of a crossroads of paths. That way, we aren't cornered to run one way or the other. If the Careers approach from the south, we can run north, west, or east. We have the power to choose and they can only follow.

"Let's stop here," Clem suggests once we reach the crossroads. Everyone fervently agrees. Since I still feel okay, I offer to stand watch while the others rest. Wynter decides to stay watch with me, even though she was in the line of fire for the better part of the day. She claims she isn't tired, though.

"I also want to see who is in the sky tonight," Wynter adds.

I nod, understanding. Ironically, the Capitol seal lights up in the sky above our heads about two seconds after she says that. The anthem blares and the first faces show up. The boy from 2, Emil, died today, and so did the boy from 4, Brendan. They were wounded in our little Cornucopia battle and most likely died later on. Two Careers out of the way, four more to go.

The girl from 4 died today as well, probably at the hands of her own district partner. I know for a fact that she wasn't in with the Careers, so she was probably killed by them.

Both tributes from 5, the girl from 7, the boy from 9, and the girl from 10 died in the bloodbath before we got there to screw things up. Eight deaths total. All things considered, eight isn't a huge number for the bloodbath. In a normal year, about half of the tributes die on the first morning. I think that by interfering with the Careers, our alliance saved a lot of lives. I remember seeing four or five tributes scrambling around the Cornucopia while Saul and the others distracted the Careers. They could've been killed if we hadn't stepped in. I feel a good deal of pride when I think about being in the Games and savinglives instead of endingthem.

The Capitol seal disappears and an eerie silence falls on the arena. Earlier today, Josef revealed that he thinks it's a maze. I agree with him. What else could this be? The metal walls encase us and drive us in any direction it pleases. No matter how long we run or how hard we try, there is no escaping a maze. You either get lucky and find the one passage out, which I doubt there is one in this Quell, or you get lost.

Spell it with me, Freedom. We are l-o-s-t. Lost.

Strangely, these tight walls and narrow paths remind me of home. They remind me of the cramped conditions of the factories. They remind me that I can survive this, because I survive years of working in the factories. Only now, there are murderers on my tail.

Wynter's voice draws me from my reverie. "Callum?"

"Yeah?"

The dim lanterns reflect off of Wynter's dark hair and her gleaming eyes. Her mouth is twitching up into a faint smile as she recalls, "Do you remember our reaping?"

I try to think back on the event, but weirdly, nothing comes to mind. I shake my head. "No, not really. What happened?"

My district partner laughs softly, her eyes distant as she tells me what happened weeks ago. "You had a major meltdown on stage, and I had to shove you into the Justice Building. It caused quite the uproar with the Peacekeepers, if I remember correctly."

"Huh. I don't remember a thing about that."

Wynter's smile widens. "Well, you probably shouldn't. I had to knock you out cold just to drag you into the building. A few days later, I got in trouble for 'fighting with other tributes before entering the arena'."

I smile, straining to remember. Not even the blurriest image comes floating back. "Wow. You must have hit me really hard."

"I did. It stung my hand for an hour."

We laugh quietly, as though not to wake our allies up. Wynter watches the north path and my back, while I watch the south path and her back. It's a bit strange to talk to someone directly behind you, but we manage. Wynter begins reminiscing about District 6, our beloved home, when another cannon booms in the distance.

Another tribute has fallen. The boy from District 10 appears in the sky, grim and solemn as he takes his leave of the world.

Wynter and I share a look. Her expression is strong and brave, while mine is thoughtful. I know we are thinking the same thing.

Was that last tribute a Career victim? Are they back up off their feet and killing?

Are they back on our trail?

We rouse Forest and Freedom about an hour later. They take watch while Wynter and I rest for a little longer. Due to walking for miles in circles and staying up late, I fall asleep almost instantly. The arena and the Quell is only a numbing fear in the back of my mind as my eyes close and my mind dozes off into oblivion.

* * *

**A/N: I apologize for the shortness of this chapter, but I promise the next one will be longer. Thanks for reading. **


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Huge thanks again to iloverueforever for reviewing. And to answer your question, Forest and Freedom are in the alliance with Saul and the others, just to clear up any confusion. Forest wasn't in the original six, but he joined later on. Thanks for reading and enjoy!**

* * *

**Fiorella Gage, D1**

We lost the outer district kids who attacked us at the Cornucopia. They kept running around in circles through this steel maze and Romilda finally had enough. She collapsed to the floor, throwing her hands up.

"It's useless! We have lost them. Let them run, for all I care!" she cries in despair. This is probably one of the only times she's ever lost to anyone inferior to her.

I pat her on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Romilda. We will find them and avenge our allies."

My ally nods, declaring, "Yes, we will not let their deaths go unnoticed!"

Liam and Rudyard, our only other living allies, nod solemnly in understanding. Their wary eyes dart around our location, checking for enemies. I hold out my outstretched hand to Romilda to help her up on her feet. Once she is, I suggest to the others that we go back to the Cornucopia to scavenge up some supplies.

"Good idea," Liam says. "We'll get some real heavy-duty weapons and go hunting before nightfall."

Rudyard casts a mischievous glance to us. "I doubt there will be nightfall here." We look up to the sky and realize that there is nothing to see. Lanterns are hung on top of the walls, but other than that, there are no other sources of light. Perhaps there are flashlights back at the Cornucopia, but most likely not. This isn't paradise.

It takes us at least an hour or two to find our way back to the golden horn of the Cornucopia where the Quell began. When we arrive at last, we are even more worn out than before. The whole area is completely deserted, so we immediately collapse in exhaustion. Liam actually slips to the floor, all six feet down, and begins snoring like a bear! I won't repeat Romilda's screeched profanity at my district partner, but I will admit that it wasn't pleasant to hear.

After that, Liam acts alert at all times. It's a bit hysterical to watch him quickly straighten his posture whenever our leader walks past. I can't help but elicit the tiniest giggle each time it occurs. Thankfully, I am never caught.

The Cornucopia is a no-man's land. Provisions are scattered about the vicinity of the golden horn with no rhyme or reason. It's a bit difficult for me to see because I love having a sense of cleanliness and order. With everything thrown about, it takes all the self-control I have not to crawl around, sorting everything through or pull the hair out of my head.

In the meantime, Rudyard gets some things done. In the same time it takes for Romilda to order us around, the District 7 boy already has a fire roaring and water boiling over it. He gathered up all the unspoiled food and set it aside in a neat stack. I internally thank him for that bit of neatness. At least someone here has any sense at all for organization!

Romilda instructs me to scavenge all the weapons I can find.

"Anything that can kill, I want you to collect." And with that, she marches on her path of destruction.

That's easy enough. Scanning the area with eagle eyes, I swiftly spot a set of axes, bows and arrows, and other miscellaneous sharp items. To insure my safety, I carefully handle each weapon one by one. This way, I know I can't get hurt. I won't allow taking myself out of the Quell this early by hurting myself through mere menial labor. That would be mortifying.

I have decided that if I can't win this Quell, then I will at least bring honor to my district. If there is somehow a way I can honor the good citizens of 1, I will do it. I suppose that is how I honor my district, because I have nothing else to represent or love.

Shuffling through boxes and care packages, my fingertips rip open and dig deep into a particularly large cardboard box. Even though I can't see it, I feel the soft and vulnerable material of bubble wrap at the very bottom of the box. Back home, the luxury items are shipped in this bubble wrap stuff and we have to manufacture it by the tons.

I pull it out of the box. There it is; the unmistakable, air-sealed bubbles that _pop _when squeezed too tightly. Secretly, I glance over my shoulder. The rest of the Careers are focused intently on their respective jobs, so I continue my search. I mechanically rummage through the box, sifting through layer after layer of bubble wrap.

And at the bottom of the last layer, I know it was all worth it. For at the end of my search, my fingertips find a certain wonder that has never, ever made an appearance in any Games before this.

The whole country is most likely watching this very moment as I caress my newest finding. The slick black design camouflages the little weapon so well that I hide it in the inside of my jacket pocket, in the secret pocket. I zip the jacket up too, to secure my weapon's secrecy.

As I walk around the campsite for the rest of the day, I feel the chamber of it press against my rib cage. I have to lean to the left slightly to relief this pain, but when the others are watching, it isn't too much of a burden to bear. It is all worth it. It is all worth it.

I am the very first tribute in the long history of the Games to have ever found a real life gun in the arena, and perhaps the last.

Once my allies are deeply asleep, to the point where I can all hear their even, deep breaths and light snores, I take my handgun out. It is a small thing, lightweight and handy. I open the bullet chamber, and my heart instantly drops to my shoes.

The chamber is empty.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Thank you to all you readers out there. You guys are what make writing this story great. Dear iloverueforever, I love YOU forever! You are too kind with your reviews. Sorry for the late update, though. I'll try to be quicker next time. For those who haven't, please vote in my poll! Thanks!**

* * *

**Rosemary Mayfield, D8**

I didn't grab anything, not one thing, from the Cornucopia, and now I am regretting it more than ever. Dragging my limp body along, I push my short, little legs father and father. I haven't stopped moving since the beginning of the Quell. I didn't stop when I saw the faces in the sky. I haven't stopped, and I don't plan on stopping until I find some feasible shelter.

I must admit, seeing two Careers' grim faces in the sky were a shocker. I was expecting the fallen tributes to skip right to the outlying districts, but my expectations were blown right out of the water when I saw the boy from 2 and the boy from 4 staring down at me.

My natural curiosity burns through and I wonder what could have happened to them.

The possibilities swirl in disorderly chaos in my mind. I imagine ferocious beasts chasing after ever last tribute until one remains. I picture natural disasters, like hurricanes, tornados, and massive fires hurtling through the maze's walls and destroying ever last one of us. Or maybe there is a mindless murderer on the loose, planning on hunting us down and putting an end to us personally.

I'm a worry-wart; sue me.

My late mother's face floats back to me after all these years. _It doesn't do any good to worry_ she used to say when I would get worked up at the smallest things.

_It doesn't do any good to worry, _I think to myself. I keep that thought in the forefront of my mind as I force my tired legs to trudge just a little bit farther. Just get around the corner, I tell myself. Just get past the crossroads, I command myself. Just make it to that tiny little door, I instruct myself.

Wait, what is that little door?

My feet stumble over each other and I fall to the ground. My hands shoot out to cushion the fall and I land on them roughly. Grunting with the effort of falling, I spring to my knees alertly. No one is nearby, so I crawl silently to the door. I reach it in no time. Maybe it's a tiny passageway to a place outside this maze!

Heart beating and hands shaking, I twist the doorknob and push open the small door. The height of the door isn't tall enough for me to walk through, so I crawl through on my hands and knees. Shutting it tightly behind me, I look up in amazement as bright light shines through for the first time in a day.

Light, so very bright, blinds me for what seems like a millennium. My eyes struggle to focus on my surroundings, and it scares me to be seemingly blind for so long when I could be in such potential danger.

At long last, the sharp glare of light dims slightly and I squint my eyes. At first, I only see a dark green and red blotched backdrop. This immediately catches my eye and piques my interest. After a long day of maneuvering only tall, metal walls in this deathtrap maze, anything with color stands out like a tulip among a patch of tulips. Of course, I can only guess that these flowers would contrast because I have never seen them before. District 8 is fond of factories but not flowers.

Perhaps that explains their aversion to me, the one and only Rosemary Mayfield. Or perhaps I am too fond of play-on words.

In a startling flash, my vision returns to me and I find myself standing in the center of a perfectly trimmed and excessively colorful rose garden. Each flower bud is classically flawless, as if roses needed to be anymore lovely than they already are. The colors of the roses stretch across the garden in a cascading rainbow, red beauties closest to me and purple perfections farthest away. Here in this petal paradise I see roses in strange colors like mint green and bright neon blue; colors I had never imagined could grow on these particular flowers. No doubt these are Capitol-engineered flower hybrids, bred by scientists in labs for its sole purpose of growing here in the Quell.

Sweet aromas overwhelm me. I am nearly blown off my feet by the sheer strong scent of these delicate little things. The air is cleaner and fresher from the rusty smell of spilt blood, and it relieves me from the sweaty, gross smell of the arena. Inhaling deeply, I ponder the purpose of putting this little paradise garden into a death trap gladiator ring.

I walk along the edge of the bushes that reach my waist, fingering the soft petals and grazing the tips of the flowers with my fingertips carefully. I forget all time and meaning of reality as I stare incredulously at these tiny wonders. A pure, sparkling gold rose blooms next to a deep purple one. The colors commend each other blissfully perfect. Each and every blossom compliments the next and I become lost in the center of the garden, my feet gliding around as if I knew the way in and out of this unfamiliar place. I allow my legs free reign as they lead me to wherever they please.

I find myself seeking out the more muted colors rather than the brighter, more electric flowers. The softer ones, not dull or drab in the least, are presented in a modest perspective and I think those suit my personality better than the roses that stand out. Back home, I've always tried to blend into the crowd and not cast a long shadow. I would choose the seat in the back of the classroom. I would choose the sewing machine in the corner of the factory. My clumsiness on the factory floor was enough to guarantee the limelight, and that quickly became something that I continually tried to avoid. To this day, I still hate being in the center of attention. It reminds me too much of how I was treated back home in 8. Kids picked on me and adults sneered because I couldn't hold the fabric straight and it would go crooked in the machine. I ruined quilt after quilt because my squares weren't right. They would look like uneven rhombuses among perfectly aligned squares.

My feet turn thoughtlessly and lead me over to the quieter colors. I lose myself in a sea of lavender and light turquoise. Rolling waves of sky blue and salmon pink are among the bushes. I find pearly white and several shades of peach.

Sighing, I turn away from the softer colors and one blossom in particular catches my eye. Out of my peripherals, I catch the tiniest glimpse of an emerald green rose, hiding among sterling silver and blood red blossoms. In an instant, I find myself standing in front of the emerald, and for a split second, I see something different from the rose.

I see Levi's emerald green eyes staring back at me, and his boyish grin smirking. His thin eyebrows quirk up in his sarcastically funny way of doing and saying things.

When I blink, my district partner is gone and I am alone again in the rose garden.

I finally tear my greedy eyes away from the garden and observe my surroundings. It seems as though I am in some sort of room, but the walls are so opaque that I can't tell where the walls bend or break into different parts. It's almost as if this is a one-way glass room, where everyone else in on the other side, looking in on me and my garden.

Curling up into a ball by the emerald rose, I shut my heavy eyelids and wish for sleep to come. Eventually, the tiredness seeps back to me and I begin to doze off. Consciousness escapes me and my mind completely blacks out.

The next time I awaken, the light in this bright room catches on a metal object and glares into my eyes. I fumble around until I grasp the tiny metal thing in my palm. I sit up and hold the metal object up to the light.

The metal object I hold has been molded to resemble the shape of a thimble, except that this thing is solid all the way through. Thimbles have holes and no one uses them in 8 anymore, but we still keep them for whatever reason. Sometimes we just need the smallest things to hold onto the past.

As the light catches on the metal, I realize it's a shining silver color and I can even see my reflection in it if I peer closely. I search the grassy undergrowth but don't find any other of these little things. This little thing is lonely, similar to me.

I stick the metal thing in my jacket pocket and stand up, brushing myself off. I have a few decisions to make; decisions that will impact my mortality rate and survival chances if I plan to truly compete for victory in this Quell.

Should I leave this little paradise for the outside arena, or should I safeguard my life and stay here? There is no promising that this garden is absolutely safe; just because I survived one night here doesn't mean that the Gamemakers won't release a horde of bears or a noxious gas later today if I begin to become boring in the audiences' eyes. I can't predict what they will pull out of their sleeves, so I think I will play it safe and at the same time, not safe.

I must leave my paradise.

Before finding the little exit door, I locate the emerald rose. I pluck it carefully, without touching the stinging thorns, and tuck it away with the metal thing I found.

I have nothing else to gather or pack up, so with that, I crawl out of my garden and reenter the Quell.

Part of my reasoning to leave is also due in part to the fact that I have no food or water. All my tireless searching in the garden was useless because those roses must miraculously survive without water. I couldn't find neither river nor irrigation system for the bushes to derive hydration from. I also didn't feel guilty about plucking the emerald rose for that matter. It won't die in my pocket and it will continue to live, just as I hope my district partner will.

I crawl back out into the arena, with the dim-lit maze walls towering over my head and titanium bases by my sides. Dehydration is kicking in, and as I sneak around the corner, I fervently pray to any otherworldly being that they will help me in my quest to survive.


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: I'm sorry for the late update, but I wrote a good, long chapter to make up for it. Happy reading!**

* * *

**Freedom Remmington, D11**

After a quick rest, the alliance is back on their steady feet and moving swiftly. Saul has expressed concern over the lack of sunlight and moonlight to lead the way. Even stars would be helpful in times like these, but we must make do with what we are given. We have no guide, and as a result, we wander heedlessly.

"This is useless, Saul," calls Wynter to our leader. Saul doesn't turn at the sound of her voice. He continues to surge on, persevering with more heart than anyone I have ever seen. "We are lost and we need to find our way. It's no use to wander without any idea as to where we are going."

"Wynter is right. We need to find our way back to the Cornucopia, and continue on from there," Callum pipes up bravely. I give him credit; he has been lugging the majority of the supplies we took from the Cornucopia and hasn't complained once. My feet are aching from the weight of my legs and my back is cramping up from my heavy backpack, but these little worries aren't anything compared to the water jugs Callum carries for us.

Saul pauses mid-step and spins around on his heel. He faces us only part way. The other half of him faces the direction we are walking in. Our leader heaves a sigh and shakes his head. "We must tread the path we have been given. We carry plenty of food and water. We have no need to go back to the place where our enemies will be waiting for us."

He makes a valid point. The Careers will wait us out near the entrance of the Cornucopia. They will wait for as long as they need to until we come crawling back for more supplies once our lot has run out. I hadn't thought about this before, but now I realize it is true. Saul is right in that we need to forge on.

My allies remain bewildered, so I decide it is the small one's turn to speak up. I have a say in what we do and where we go. It is my turn to step up. "This alliance was created for what?" I ask them, to puzzle them into thinking deeply. Their confused stares flicker to me as my quivering voice rises into a powerful one. "We stick together, through thick and thin, for a purpose. What that purpose may be is for each one of you to decide on your own, because it stands for something different for every unique person. But whatever it is, it's all the same in the end. It's not to survive or win this Quell. The purpose of this alliance is to stick together as a whole unit in hopes that one of will return home."

Everyone exchanges stunned glances. No one expected the tiny thirteen-year-old girl from 11 to conjure up an inspiring speech to drive her teammates forward. I can faintly hear the gasps from my escort back in the Capitol, and her bragging that she fed me that inspiration herself.

Not this time. No, this is me talking. Not someone else talking for me, or taking the wheel from me. I stand tall for myself and not for anyone other than me.

I am not selfish. I have self-respect and self-love; two qualities that many lack. I also have self-determination.

I push past the others in effort to reach Saul. I stand next to my leader, straightening up so I am as tall as I stand. Only reaching Saul's shoulder, I truly understand how tiny I am compared to my other allies. I don't care. I won't let my size bring me down.

"Each person's purpose is their own," I continue. "I know mine. You all know yours. Not one person here doesn't have reason to live or persevere, or else you wouldn't have joined our alliance in the first place."

Saul lifts his downturned head and gazes at me levelly. I return his stare with neither fear nor faintheartedness. I want to prove to them that I am ready for a long, hard fight for life. I want to prove so many things but I must earn their respect first.

My leader nods once, shutting his eyes slightly. Telepathically, Saul conveys his mutual respect to me, the little girl from 11. When his eyes open again, I nod back. I look out at our other friends. "As a courageous one once said, not all those who wander are lost," I tell to my allies, hopefully stirring their idle fighting spirits into arousing and catching fire.

One by one, I watch as their eyes grow from fear and doubt into unquestionable and pure determination. I can barely describe it as I now watch, but it makes my heart beat like a drum and swell up in its little chamber. Forest dusts himself off and picks his backpack up from the ground, grinning slightly at me as his dark eyes become alight with boldness. Wynter picks up the slack of her bag and her face is illuminated daringly in the dim lantern-light. Callum, with double the strength, carries the impossibly heavy water jugs with no struggle and glows with life running through his veins. Clear-eyed Clementine boosts herself up off the ground after slumping against the walls. Josef lifts his chin with confidence and independence coursing through his steadfast heart.

It is one of the most beautiful sights I have ever witnessed in my short thirteen years and I know in this moment that I will never forget it for as long (or short) as I hold breath in my lungs.

"Lead on, Freedom," my leader whispers insightfully, gray eyes auroral with bravery and conviction.

A deep rumbling from underground interrupts our enlightenment, and we all are knocked off our feet by the ground shaking rapidly. My allies and I hit the ground and are at the mercy of the quaking earth. I scramble around and search for something to hold onto. Fumbling around, I feel someone grab my hand and hang on. I squeeze their hand back comfortingly as the ground quits shaking.

Almost as quickly as it began, the ground stops quaking and is silent once again.

"Everybody up," I hear Saul's hoarse voice whisper. "This could be a trap and we need to move."

The hand I am holding onto pulls me up and I find Wynter at the end of it. I smile gratefully to her and she grins back. Hurriedly, we rush to grab our packs and run along the path. Saul leads the way, followed by me, Wynter, and Callum, with Clem, Josef, and Forest bringing up the rear.

Footsteps are heard from all around us. A pair of feet sprinting at top speed and a whoop that echoes around the arena fills the still air. Saul skids to a stop just as a tribute jumps out from behind a wall.

Saul takes the boy on alone. All we hear are the sounds of grunts and a bloodcurdling screech. The others are too far behind to help, and by the time we arrive on the scene, Saul has knocked the poor boy out and gave him a deep gash across the stomach. Blood pours out of his fatal wound and there isn't a thing to do to help. We race on past him and hear his cannon boom as we turn the next corner.

We hear more footsteps, this time, from behind. Saul waves us on around the next corner as I hear a familiar scream.

"Ah!" My district partner, Forest, screams at the top of his lungs and a shiver runs down my spine, chilling me to the bone. "Freedom! Help!" he shouts helplessly.

Whirling around, I run so fast I feel like I'm flying. The rest follow me. We find Forest near the dead boy that Saul killed. Standing over my district partner are our old, long lost friends, the Careers.

The girl from 2, Romilda, holds Forest in a chokehold. My alliance draws their weapons and the Careers mirror us. They are outnumbered, but they hold one of our fighters hostage. They want something from us and they will trade anything for our ally.

I can't tear my eyes away from Forest, and yet, it is so difficult to watch him being strangled at the filthy hands of a Career. I glare at the girl with all the might I can muster.

"Release him, you coward!" I command, pointing my curved knife at her. The lantern light reflects off the blade and it shimmers menacingly. I lose all focus and nearly growl at the girl. "Now!"

She smirks wickedly and shakes her head. Her tiny evil eyes merrily watch us surround her and her alliance. "Never," she mutters, squeezing Forest even tighter.

I grip the blade tighter and edge slowly toward the girl, taking each small step lightly and lithely. Raising the blade above my head, I snarl, "Try me, 2."

Romilda grins sadistically and Forest's face goes pale. The tension all around us is so thick you could cut it. I feel my allies tense up behind me. I calmly bend low to the ground, preparing to spring upon the girl and take her out. No one messes with us 11 kids. I won't let them murder Forest. I can't let them take my only family away.

The girl smiles wider and another chill runs through my adrenaline-spiked veins. This girl is more than creepy. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Saul raise his bloody sword and Callum swing a pointed mace. Wynter and Clem breathe heavily behind me, their hands shaking from the weight of their weapons. Josef, to my blatant surprise, looks calm and collected with an arrow fit expertly into his bow.

My allies and I take a deep breath and open our eyes. The Careers prepare to defend. Forest gasps for breath.

Then the fog fell.

Like apples falling from the trees or rocks down an avalanche, thick white fog falls directly over and into our battleground. I can't see my own hand in front of my face, let alone anything or anyone else. From what I can tell, this is plain old, normal fog. My breathing is hitched and rapid, so if this was poisonous, I would have fallen flat dead about three seconds ago.

I whip my head around, searching for any other sign of my allies or enemies. Faintly and far off, I hear heavy footsteps and the sound of someone gasping for breath. It's the Careers and Forest. They are escaping while we are distracted.

Not today.

Not caring for my life or mortality, I use my hearing to pursue my enemies. At one point, I slam straight into a titanium wall and the sound of it rattles off and echoes for miles. Holding my head in one hand and using the other to feel along the wall, I continue to follow the Careers. I won't let them out of my range. I owe Forest too much to let him die like this.

If the situation were reversed, I know that he would find me and save me. I must do the same for him.

My actions may be irrational and absentmindedly, but I eventually catch up to the Careers. Saul faithfully followed me, as did Josef, Wynter, and Clem. I don't see Callum anywhere, which is a terrible sign. He was carrying most of our water supply and is an important asset to the team. I hope he catches up soon so we don't have to go on a wild goose chase to find him.

I creep around one corner and freeze, sensing the Careers' presence nearby. Several shrill voices ring out in the foggy atmosphere.

"Romilda? Liam?" someone calls. "Are you there?"

"Shut up!" says a gruffer voice that I recognize as Romilda. "They'll find us!"

"Sorry," the loud girl whispers quietly. Her footsteps shuffle away, but I doubt she will leave her alliance in a time like this. The fog is still thick and impossible to see through.

"We should move on," says the boy, Liam. "They will follow us. Especially his district partner. This was a mistake." His voice grows wary and worried as he babbles on.

Rudyard, the boy from 7, shushes him as well. "We can't undo it now. We have a few options, though."

"Is he still breathing?" the other girl comes back and asks.

A low grunt is heard. "Yes, he's barely holding on. Those outlying districts have a serious alliance. They'll be on our tails, so we need to dispose of him."

At hearing this, I frantically search for Saul in the fog. I catch the tiniest glimpse of his hollow face and determined gray eyes. In that short moment, he motions to his gory sword and telepathically tells me to prepare myself.

We leap out of our hiding spot behind the wall simultaneously, with Josef, Wynter, and Clem right behind us. Five against three shouldn't be too incredibly difficult. This should be a piece of cake, if we had truly known what we were jumping into. But we didn't, and we pay for it severely.

The worst lessons are the ones you learn after it's too late to do anything about it.

Fiorella, the girl from 1, sees us first and launches a knife at us without a second thought. She had been pacing and was ready with her weapon; when we were too busy peering through the fog and eavesdropping. Her knife slices through the fog and catches Wynter completely off her guard, cutting open an enormous gash on her neck. She falls immediately, her sword clattering loudly to the ground.

At the sight of blood pouring out of my friend's neck, I scream and race to her side. Every other thought escapes me as Wynter's eyes flutter open and shut. I place my hand against her wound, attempting to staunch the flow of blood, but to no avail. The Career's knife buried itself deep inside Wynter's jugular, and there is no doctor in the world that could save this poor girl.

I grasp Wynter's hand as her palm grows cold. She doesn't even get any last words out as her breaths cut off and her pulse stops altogether. Despite my high hopes and prayers, my friend does not miraculously return to life. All that's left is a cold body. No life remains.

Tears well up in my eyes and I slide my hand out of Wynter's. Meanwhile, I hear Saul and Josef grappling with the Careers. I don't even see Clem in this madness, but I hear her choked sobs nearby.

My eyes focus through the blurry fog and I see her pumping on someone's chest, trying to restart their heart. I crawl over, evading the Careers and my allies fighting them, and realize that Clem in trying to save Forest. His heart had stopped and she is trying to start it again. Angry tears stream down both of our faces as his grows pale and unresponsive.

The Careers don't waste any time at all. It appears that they should have the upper hand, due to Clem and me not participating in this battle and Wynter and Forest being dead. All there is left is Josef with his bow and Saul with his trusty sword.

Picking up our weapons, Clem and I rejoin them in their fight. We can't stand on the sidelines any longer. Saul and Josef are using the fog to their advantage, dodging attacks more than dealing any out.

Pouncing on our enemies, metal clashes and a battle commences. Cannons boom for Forest and Wynter, but other than that, no one else dies. The battle forges on, no one tiring or slipping up, for that would mean immediate death. Time doesn't mean anything now. All that matters is surviving and fighting on.

After the longest time imaginable, another deep rumble is heard. Everyone, Careers and my allies, looks up in confusion and exhaustion. Neither side has let up in the least, and we are all so unbelievably tired.

And then, as if this wasn't enough, the wall to the right of us leans over and crashes down to the ground, blowing rubble and dust into our faces. The force of the falling wall upsets the balance of the ground and I fall to the floor. The fog begins to thin as another wall falls into another, shattering the titanium metal. Like the domino effect, wall after wall crash into each other and cause a mesmerizing, rippling effect.

Taking this as their time to retreat, the Careers pick themselves up and run in the opposite direction.

Saul pulls me up. We help the remaining survivors up and gaining our balance, run like bats out of hell. The quaking ground throws us off every once and a while, but we keep going. We get as far away as physically possible for four exhausted kids can go before we all collapse and black out.


	19. Chapter 19

**Saul Rigel, D12**

I am the first to wake of my allies. All that is left of us is Josef, Freedom, and Clementine. The rest have either fallen or gotten themselves lost in the arena. I hear a canon in the distance…

Someone has died.

The fallen appear in the sky. I shake my allies awake to watch and honor the faces as they take their leave of the earth. Wynter, our lost ally, is the first to appear. A glistening tear rolls down Freedom's face as Wynter disappears forever. I hold my head higher in honor of my friend. She wouldn't want me to cry over her. I know that for a fact.

The next face we see is the girl from District 9. No one remembers her very well. Forest soon follows her and more tears stream smoothly down poor Freedom's face. Forest was her district partner and nearly her brother. She acts so maturely and fights so bravely that it is startling to remember that Freedom is only a wee girl at thirteen years. And now that I really remember, Freedom was born very sickly and is not expected to have a long life span. Forest dissipates into the sky. The Capitol anthem ends and the arena returns into the eerie place that it is.

Handing Freedom a water skin, I pat her shoulder. "I'm sorry about Forest," I console gently. "He will be remembered, I'm sure."

Nodding quietly, she wipes her tears fiercely and takes the water. Josef passes out dried oats and I give out water. Now that we only have four people in this alliance, we don't have to ration as much. I can tell that Clem is not doing too well with these smaller portions of food. After they gorged us in the Capitol, this is more than torture.

My district partner refuses pigheadedly when I try to give her my food. "No" is all she says.

"You're hungry," I argue. "Take it."

"No," she repeats, shaking her head.

Shrugging, I shove the oats into my mouth and wash it down with some water. My throats stings from the taste of food and water, and I almost spit it all out. Instead, I cough a fit until Freedom forces me to throw up. I stubbornly refuse, and eventually my hacking slows down. Clem coaxes Josef, who had also been coughing terribly, to drink some more water.

"You should drink some too, Saul," Clem suggests, handing me a bottle. "It'll be good for your throat."

"I think the water was what started the coughing in the first place," I reply. Josef nods in agreement, but his throat hurts so much that he can't talk. I think back on what happened the day before and suddenly a thought comes to mind. "It was the fog."

A look of astonishment and realization hits every face of my allies. They nod and Clem rummages through the first aid kit. She comes up empty, her hands shaking.

"There has to be something," she mumbles. "There _has _to be _something_."

Taking her shaking hands, I stare right into her cyan blue eyes and simply shake my head. Her eyes lower and her thin shoulders slump in disappointment. A hacking cough is heard and Clem goes right back into her doctor mode. She worked at a bakery back home, yet she is so dedicated to helping the sick. It's as if she was destined for the apothecary, not the bakery.

I pack up our supplies and look around. We collapsed near a dead end on one side and near an open path on the other. The walls to the left of us had fallen and are lying in ruins. The path is impassable, so we are forced in only one direction. When the time comes, we will be heading in that direction. We must keep moving, despite our trepidations.

Josef's health continues to worsen. I fear for his life. He is a valued asset to our alliance with his bow and dwindling arrows. I must remember to find or forge new ones. That is, if I ever found a tree or some sort of wood here. Maybe I'll be able to draw blood from a stone, too.

I've never been fond of sarcasm.

"Come along," I say. "We must be moving on."

Freedom gets up and slings her pack over her shoulder, but Josef needs Clementine to help him up. I hope carrying him won't become too much of a burden. We begin to walk but our trek is soon slowed down by our ill one. I hear Clem calling from behind.

"Saul! Slow down!"

Sighing, I whirl around and wait for them to catch up. Freedom was by my side for only a few minutes before she turned around to help Clem carrying Josef. I would do the same, but I need to lead this group, and I can't lead them by hauling a sick boy from eight miles behind.

For a while, we make slow progress. I yearn to jump upon the wreckage of the fallen titanium walls, but I am afraid another earthquake would erupt and I would be buried beneath ruins. I need to see above the walls to find the Cornucopia, my current destination. The others might believe we only keep moving to stay far away from the Careers, but I know the truth.

The fact of the matter is that we will never be safe from the Careers. They are the only force strong and big enough to give us a challenge and the Gamemakers aren't blind to that. They have the power to bring us together in the showdown of the century and they have the power to eliminate us all in one big wave of destruction. They can do whatever they want and we have no power against them, except the power of refusal.

We can refuse to play these Games, or this Quell, and simply throw all the rules out the door. We can give up at any moment along the way and throw it in their faces that it doesn't matter to us if we die. We can scream in their faces that we don't care if we perish at such a young age. We know death comes eventually, so why should we fear it? It would be spitting in their faces if we committed suicide.

For the sake of my district and the goal of making them proud, I choose to stay alive and win this Quell for them. Now that I know my allies personally though, I know it will be harder than anything else to leave them. I wouldn't kill them. I wouldn't fall that far.

"Saul?" I turn around at the sound of my name. It's Freedom, and her face is so quizzical it's comical. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Only eerie silence, as always.

Her face goes pale, and for a quick moment, my heart has a mini heart attack and I unsheathe my sword. Blood stains the silver and gives it an intimidating demeanor. Raising my weapon, I whisper, "What is it?"

And as an answer, a beast lets out a long, unbroken howl that pierces the silence and sends shivers down our spines. Freedom's strange gray eyes meet mine and mirror the same fear that inhabits mine. I shake that fear away, exchanging it with determination. Josef straightens up out of his sickly state, only to bend over and cough up blood. I race back to his side, bending low to his ear and whisper in his ear.

"Can you make it?" I murmur it so quietly to make sure that neither Freedom nor Clem hears this.

He shakes his head so slightly that only I catch it. I see a glimpse of the identical determination in his sparkling, wise eyes. "I'll…distract them….for as long…" He gets no further than that, but I know what he means.

I pat my ally on the back, handing him his trusty bow and sheath of remaining arrows. There are only about a dozen left, but that should be enough if he uses them sparingly. With one bow of the head, I show my respect to Josef, my ally, my friend, my brother. Not just anyone could sacrifice their own life for three others like Josef is doing. It takes a lot more than courage. It takes… it takes a hero.

Josef is a hero.

Clem and Freedom realize what is happening within seconds. Tears run down Clem's hollow cheeks, but Freedom has finished crying over lost friends. Instead, the girl from 11 puts her right fist over her heart, holding her head high. Clem imitates this sign of homage, and I do as well.

Josef nods to us, and the turns around as the first wolf races around the corner. The alpha wolf, as tall as a pony and enormous with muscle, is followed by a pack of at least ten or more hungry, blood thirsty wolves.

"Go" is the last words I hear uttered to us from Josef's scratchy voice. He fires an arrow at the alpha and it miraculously finds its target in the wolf's eye.

We waste no time. If Josef can give us a head start, we will not waste it. Sprinting as fast as our legs can carry us, Freedom, Clem, and I cover an immense amount of ground. Clem, the poor thing, chokes on her sobs as she tries to keep up with Freedom and I. My lungs strain with the effort of sprinting mile after mile. Freedom trips once over rubble. At long last, we slow to a crawl when we feel we have run far enough to escape the wolves.

We hear no cannon that night.


	20. Chapter 20

**AN: I'm guessing you're all anxious to hear from the Careers?**

* * *

**Fiorella Gage, D1**

The Career alliance has been in shambles for the past few days. All that remains of our group is Romilda, Rudyard, Liam and I. Romilda is on a fiery path of rage, desperately determined to find every last one of those stinking outer district rats and put them through hell and back before murdering them mercilessly. Liam continually tests her temper, trying to convince her that we need to hunt down the other runts that aren't a threat first. Rudyard and I find peace by falling under the radar and ultimately following Romilda's orders. We wouldn't cross her; we value our lives too much.

Apparently, Liam does not. Just now, he is in a heated debate with our leader about which path to take. Of course, when Romilda says right, Liam will say left.

"We need to take the others out before we take on the alliance!" he shouts at her, his hands shaking. "That's our best bet!"

Romilda's eyes glare red hot and angry. She grinds her teeth together and shoves Liam into the nearest standing wall. "Just do as you're told, 1," she spits out between her teeth.

Liam, arrogant as ever, brushes himself off and sticks his chin in the air. I wish he would start using his brain instead of his dumb, thick-skulled head. He might as well ask Romilda straight out if she would kill him, right here and now, by the way he talks to her.

I hate all of them so much. Down to the deepest pit of my black heart, I want them all to die a bloody death. Or better yet, let it be my hand that takes their lives, one by one. I am so fed up with each and every one of my so-called allies that I would honestly kill them all right now if it weren't for the fact that for the most part, they do protect me when the time comes. We fight as one unit and an effective one at that.

Carrying all our remaining supplies, we trudge through the ruins of the fallen walls. The maze is broken now, but the arena stays intact. More paths have opened up, but others have been closed off by rubble. It's not in our power to move thousand ton titanium walls, so we leave them be. We move along, following Romilda in her wake of fury.

She's so mad that we lost and fled from some outer district rats that if steam could come out of her ears, I think it would. I wish I could see that happen once before I kill her.

As we walk, a murder plot begins to formulate within my mind. If I attack on my watch while the others are sleeping, I can cover their mouths to prevent their screams from being heard. Romilda will be the first to go, and then Rudyard. The reason being is that Romilda is the more adept fighter here, and I will need her to be one hundred percent knocked out when I attack. Next will be Rudyard, because he is stronger than me and if I can catch him not alert and off his guard, I can kill him with no problem. Liam will be easy to take on even though he could well be fully awake by the time it comes to his turn to die. I know his fighting style to well. I'll just hide his sword and he'll be worthless.

With my hidden gun tucked away, I feel even more protected. Even though I have yet to have found bullets, I know they wouldn't juke me out and not leave bullets somewhere in this damned arena. They have to be _somewhere_, and I won't rest until I find them.

"Hey!" Romilda calls to me from ahead. "You! Don't fall behind, girl, or I'll dispose of you."

Ha. We will see who disposes who.

Hurrying along, we make good time. Romilda leads us through the maze, using a piece of chalk to draw arrows on the standing walls. They all point to the direction of the Cornucopia, our camp. I'm hoping the Gamemakers drop off some more supplies soon, because the golden horn is running low and I'm getting hungry. This Quell has dragged on for longer than I had previously imagined. It seems that the Gamemakers haven't killed any tributes personally, like they have in years past. They want blood split by the tributes. That's fine by me. I like it better that way.

Romilda turns the next corner and jumps so far back that she knocks into Liam and I. Rudyard back up, drawing his knife while Liam opens his mouth to bicker. Romilda shushes him and unsheathes her newly acquired axes. I pluck my knives from my belt and hold it above my head. Liam looks at all of us dumbfounded until he realizes that others are near. He pulls out his sword and we eavesdrop carefully on the tributes around the corner.

Low voices discuss something about a canon, or lack thereof.

"We should have heard it by now," a tiny voice croaks out.

"I'm positive it didn't go off. I was listening for it."

"Maybe he's alive."

"We should go back."

"No! We'll be killed by those wolves!"

"He fended them off! He's probably wounded back there and needs us!"

"I don't think this is a good idea."

"What about the Careers? What if they find us?"

"We can't worry about those cowards. They are foolish, and jump into any fight they can. We are stronger than them."

"Agreed."

"So should we risk going back?"

The voices babble on, three to be exact. At certain points, they speak of our alliance, dissing us and calling us cowards and idiots. Chuckling inwardly to myself, I realize that most of their points are more than valid. We do jump into any battle, heedless of danger and as arrogant as ever. I don't dare say this aloud, for it would be my head. Romilda appears relatively calm as she takes it all in. All the insults directed at the Careers as a whole reflect her leadership, and even though she very well knows this, she remains creepily calm and collected. She takes it all in stride, as if she doesn't take any offense to it. Deep down inside, I know she wants to tear those kids' limbs apart.

Eventually, the tributes on the other side of the wall come to a decision. They will go back for their friend. I scoff at their weakness. If this was a decision that came across the Careers, we would leave our wounded ally behind for the wolves, as ironic as that may sound. We don't take mercy on anyone, not even ourselves.

Romilda raises her axes, and we mirror her. She turns the corner and I watch as she hurls her axe with all the force she can muster. A great crashing sound rings out and Romilda curses angrily. She must have missed her target. She readies her next axe as the rest of us Careers jump out of our hiding spot and attack the tributes.

It's that alliance again. I suspected as much when I heard more than one or two voices. They have become a force to be reckoned with in this Quell, and I don't take enemies for granted. These kids are some serious fighters and that needs to be recognized, if someone in my alliance ever grows a brain.

Backing off a bit, I lay back and watch my allies fight. Romilda immediately takes on her old sparring partner, the leader of the group, Saul. I remember him from training because he stood out so much more than the others. He is ready for her and defends her aggressive attacks like she's hitting him with a banana. She makes the fatal mistake of heaving her axe at him and the weapon slips out of her greedy hands. Saul dodges this attack and Romilda ducks as he swings his sword at her. Romilda is forced to fight unarmed. Seeing this as unfair, Saul flings his sword to the ground and Romilda grins. They fight hand-to-hand and I turn my attention back to the others.

Rudyard takes on the girl from 11, while Liam the imbecile fights with the girl from 12. I have to hand it to the girls; they are extremely brave for facing these two competitors and surviving this long. They don't even seem to be breaking a sweat. They just continue to dodge my allies' attacks and ducking out of the way of their swinging weapons. I can see each battle is pretty evenly matched, so I just sit back and watch. Interestingly enough, no one notices. I hang back and watch the showdown go down.

Romilda and Saul's fight heats up. Both have cast aside their weapons, even though their weapons are within arm's reach. Saul seems to have the upper hand now, and Romilda appears to be exhausted. I almost jump in to help her, but then I remember that I hate her and want Saul to kill her. I nearly cheer when he shoves her into the titanium walls and blood from her cracked skull splatters everywhere.

A shrill scream rings out in the air and all motion stops for a split second. The other fights pick right back up again, but one slows down. Someone is losing. I turn and my heart sinks. Liam has pinned the 12 girl to the ground, and her blood is caked into her blonde hair and face. He has her in a chokehold with no possible way of escape.

Thinking quickly, I race across the small expanse and crash into Liam, switching our positions. Now I hold the girl from 12's neck, pretending to squeeze the air out of her lungs. In reality, I barely touch her. Liam can't tell though. He thinks I'm just being a jerk.

"What the heck, Fiorella?" he shouts at me.

I spit out the best response I can think of. "She's my kill!"

The girl from 12 who I saved looks up incredulously at me with the biggest blue eyes I have ever seen. She knows I saved her life and she doesn't have any idea why. I want to let her go somehow but I have Liam standing over me, waiting for me to finish the kill and move on. But all of a sudden, a force slams into me and knocks me off the girl.

I look up and see Liam standing over me. He kicks me in the side and I cower in to that side where his boot met my ribcage. His expression is one of pure rage as he spits in my face.

"This is _my _kill. Back off!" he shouts, eyes wild with fury. He stoops over to the 12 girl but I am quicker. From my lying down position, I shove his ankles with my feet. His weak knees buckle and he falls to the floor. I nudge the girl from 12 and our eyes meet.

"Run," I mouth silently. She nods and boosts herself up. Just before running away, she turns around, picks up Liam's head, and slams it into the titanium walls. I almost cheer again. Instead, I pick myself up and look around.

The outer district alliance fled, leaving us Careers in the bloody dust. Romilda cradles a serious head wound and a heavy vendetta. Rudyard appears to be fine except for a gash on his left forearm and fingernail slash marks on his cheek. Liam, of course, is knocked out cold, and I'm fervently hoping he has no memory of our little scuffle when he awakens again. I am the only one outwardly unscathed, although my stomach is still churning fiercely from Liam kicking me.

Pulling out bandages, I help wrap up Romilda's cracked skull. It looks like it needs stitches, but when I tell her this, she waves me away.

"I don't need stitches," she mumbles, barely audible. "I'm from District 2. I've been dropped on stone masonry numerous times before and never needed any stitches."

I shrug and move on to Rudyard, who happily takes the stitches. I admit that I'm not very efficient with a needle and string, but at least his gash stopped bleeding. Once Rudyard is patched up, he murmurs a small thanks and wraps up his own arm with bandages. Romilda is on her feet again, pacing and mumbling something to herself. I think she's lost her mind, but I won't be the one to say it aloud. She can still handle her precious axe.

"What about him?" I ask, gesturing toward our unconscious ally. Blood drips from his mouth and an open gash in his head, pooling on the floor around him. He won't make it very far with his injuries. It would be best to kill him now while he's blacked out so he won't feel any unnecessary pain. I hate him, but I still have some mercy tucked far back away in my cold heart.

"Leave him," says Rudyard. "He'll be of no use to us."

"Should we end it?" I ask, raising my knife.

Rudyard hesitates, but nods his head in the end. Romilda doesn't even notice our conversation. She won't mind us killing Liam. She hated him more than she hates the rest of us.

Raising my knife, I force myself to look away as I throw it at my own district partner and ally. Rudyard stops me with a hand on my shoulder.

"I'll do it," he replies gruffly. I nod thankfully. If I won this Quell and went back home, everyone would look down at me as a traitor, even though they know the circumstances. They would ignore that Liam was on his deathbed. They would only see what they want to see, and that is me as a traitor to District 1.

I turn away. All I hear is a sickening snap and a canon boom in the distance. We move along before the hovercraft comes to pick up the dead body. Romilda continues to mumble to herself, but Rudyard and I ignore her. We lead on the decimated Career pack with a vengeance. No one will escape our clutches now. We are angry now. And there isn't anyone and anything that will stop us.


	21. Chapter 21

**Josef Inouye, D3**

I fought those wolves off. To the very last arrow, I fought. And when I ran out, I unsheathed my knife and I kept on going. I never stopped fighting. I trudged on and on. The wolves kept on coming and coming and never stopped. But then they finally did. Once their alpha was gone, they were in shambles. I took out thirty-seven wolves in four minutes. I think that calls for a record.

My allies got away. That was the goal. They are safely away from the danger now. I sit here, propped up against this metallic wall, alone and at peace. The scattered dead bodies of the wolves lay around me, arrows stuck in their carcasses. I wish to retrieve them, but I can't find the strength in me to get up and collect them. The thought that I might need them for protection in the future is what finally gets me off my lazy butt.

With all the energy I can muster, I pull myself up off the ground. Every little movement takes the effort of an army. I drag myself to the first dead wolf and examine the body, searching for my lost arrow. I find it at last lodged in the wolf's heart and yank it out. I place it back in its quiver and move on to the next wolf. The bite marks from the wolves sting with a burning passion. Coughs rack my body and I feel like throwing up my lungs.

I find nine out of my twelve original arrows. That is sufficient for my needs. The Gamemakers have had enough with me lately; they should move on to torture someone else.

A canon booms in the distance.

A face appears in the sky later. It is a Career. Liam, from District 1, died today. I am not surprised. He was dim-witted. I never expected him to last long during this Quell.

Another face appears in the sky. I must have missed that canon. My heart drops to my shoes when I recognize the face. It is my district partner, Wren. Wren died today. While I was selfishly worrying about preserving my own life, Wren's life ended. Somewhere in District 3, her loved ones weep for her.

This is all my fault. If I hadn't abandoned her in training for Saul's alliance, she could be alive. She could be sitting right next to me. She could have won this Quell. She could have gone home and been rich and happy as a victor. But she didn't. Wren died a meaningless death and that's all thanks to me for being a terrible friend.

I can't believe it.

I try to hold it in this time, but the coughs win and I hack up blood. Wiping my chin, I search for the rest of my lost arrows before I realize that it's too late. I sink down to the floor, the smell of rotting bodies fresh in my nose and the grief of a lost friend fresh in my heart.

I hide under the bodies whenever another tribute wanders by. There aren't many of us left. Now that I count on my fingers, there are only ten tributes standing. When two more die, the final eight will be left standing. Three Careers remain, and three of Saul's original alliance remains, excluding me. I am on my own now. That's seven tributes, plus any wanderers. Callum is lost in the arena, but he isn't dead. I am absolutely positive I have not seen him in the sky.

I will not last much longer. The coughing gets worse by the day. That fog illness affected me the most out of anyone else. Saul caught the sickness a little, but he recovered within the same day. My lungs continue to crumble. My throat is sore from lack of water and hacking. My mouth tastes of blood. My head pounds. My heart races. My eye twitches.

I won't last long. I won't last long.

I will die. I won't win. I never said goodbye. I'm leaving my mother and sister all alone in this cruel world. I've broken so many promises. I've cheated too many people. I can't stand living with this guilty conscience. I am a murderer. I am a monster.

I look down at the bow in my hand and clutch it tighter.

I can't give up now.

I have to think about the good things I did in this life before I die, rather than the bad things. I cannot allow myself to die in hate and vain. I have to have lived for something. I don't care if I was born to be a diversion. If that was my destiny, then so be it. I don't care if I was born to sacrifice myself. Everyone is born to die. There has to be more though. Some are born to be victors, and others are destined to die in the Games. But everyone has a greater purpose in this world.

When I die, hopefully I will understand my purpose. But for now, I can only ponder and suffer.

More coughing. More pain. I toss my bow and quiver of arrows down and lay back against the wall. I am positioned in the ideal location because I can watch each entrance and exit. All the paths lead in this direction. No one can surprise me without receiving an arrow in the heart.

I sit and wait. Nothing happens. An eerie silence settles over the arena like a blanket. This arena, destroyed and tattered and somehow still standing. Half of the walls are crushed; the other half is still standing. The Gamemakers are probably itching to move me along so they can discard these wolf bodies, but I stay put stubbornly. I like my little nest here. I think I'll stay here for a little while longer.

For as long as my heart beats and my lungs have breath, I will sit and defend my dead end. This is my final destination in life, and I will defend it.

My lungs soon run out of breath. I almost hear my canon go off before my eyes shut one last time. In a last ditch effort, I snap all my arrows in half and break my bow. I hide everything under the body of a nearby wolf. Nobody will die again at the hands of those weapons.

Lying down for the last time, I lose my grip and let go. I let my life flash before my eyes, and I soak in the last few moments before blackness overcomes me.

* * *

**AN: I wanted Josef to come to a peaceful end. After all his bravery and sacrifice, I think he finally found that peace in his final resting place. I'll try to update one more chapter today, but it might be later. Until then, thanks for reading.**


	22. Chapter 22

**AN: SO SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE. For whatever reason, this was a very hard chapter for me to write. I had to force myself to write it, but I did it for you readers. Again, my thanks goes out to my faithful reviewer, iloverueforever. Thanks a million!**

* * *

**Callum Thomas, D6**

The echoing boom of a canon startles me awake. I have been on my own these past few days, and my life in the arena has become extremely uneventful. Being away from Saul and the others has changed my experience in this Quell dramatically. That is all I can say about that.

The hardest part of being away is seeing my old allies in the sky. Today, Josef joins Wynter and Forest as fallen tributes. Peering down at me are Josef's wise, caring eyes and I ask myself, _what did he ever do to deserve this fate? _I will never know the truthful answer.

Josef is gone. Wynter and Forest have passed on. All that remains of the original outer district alliance are Saul, Clementine, and Freedom. The Careers have dwindled as well. They only have three members now, and they must be close to turning on each other. It will happen sooner or later, just like it always does. One will go insane, and the others will plot to blindside that tribute. It's all very confusing, and I hated being forced to watch year after year of those murderous kids backstabbing and lying to each other.

Outside of those two alliances, there are three wanderers left. I am one of them. I have yet to find the two District 8 tributes, but I know they are around here somewhere. I have been on my guard ever since I was split up from my allies because I am more vulnerable now that I'm alone.

Picking my backpack up, I trek in one direction for a few hours, all the while keeping the sound of silence to my back. With me, I carry two jugs of water, canned food for a week, and a silver spear. I don't imagine this Quell forging on for longer than a week at most. Everyone is so tired and near the end that I don't imagine anyone caring enough to go any further. We are nearing the final eight. One more must die to reach the last eight tributes.

Now that this is coming to a close, I feel like I might have a chance at winning this thing. I could become the first ever victor of a Quarter Quell. This would be the greatest honor District 6 has and ever will be bestowed.

I am not afraid. I am ready for anything to be thrown at me. I am revved up. I am ready to fight.

It would be nice if I ever got a sponsor, though.

Seriously, I haven't received one thing from a sponsor throughout this whole charade. Even when I was a part of Saul's alliance, we didn't get anything. Not one drop of water. Not one itty-bitty slingshot. Of course, we didn't really need anything for very long because we basically stole most of the Cornucopia and carried it on our backs. That was fun. I'm not running low on anything, but it would be nice to know that there is a world going on outside this arena. Even the tiniest reminder would be helpful.

Maybe this is a perk of the Quell. No sponsors, no outside help. The Gamemakers are forcing us to help ourselves and only ourselves. This would make sense, since this is the Quell and it is survival at the fittest.

No, I don't believe that. During training and the interviews, our whole motivation to do well was to pick up sponsors. They wouldn't change that in the middle of the game. Not without telling us, at least. The Capitol has to have _some _decency, right?

Perhaps not.

I don't really need anything, though, so I'm not worried. As long as I stay smart and outlast the others, I can win this thing. I am healthy and unscathed from avoiding fights. This is my time to shine. It's time for District 6 to be in the spotlight for once.

Up ahead of me, fallen walls block my path. I nearly turn around, but before I do, I hear the shuffling of steps and fearful whimpering. Immediately I freeze, and when my heart picks up beating again I crouch low to the ground, pressing my back up against a fallen wall. I duck my head under a sort of eave and to the outside world, I am invisible. Hiding under fallen titanium walls is the best shelter and camouflage I've found in this Quell yet.

The shuffling footsteps increase in my direction and eventually I find myself staring straight into them. The leather boots are worn and dragging from long weeks of endless walking like the rest of us, but I can tell now that the owner is in a rush. Heavy panting from above signals this.

I don't waste any time. My crouch shifts silently into a hunting stance, balancing precariously on my feet and wobbly ankles. At the precise moment my balance is perfect and my enemy is still, I spring out from under the fallen wall and tackle the tribute.

Pinning the kid to the ground, I realize now that I currently have the District 8 boy. My long search has not been in vain. It is over. But it isn't. The boy struggles under my grip and manages to punch me in the jaw, barely clipping my shoulder. Red hot pain sears through my veins and I clench my teeth, spitting out blood in the other direction of the boy's face. I just want to be diplomatic here, why does he have to make it so difficult?

"Stay still and I won't kill you," I whisper, staring directly into 8's blazing eyes, alight with anger and determination. They cool down when I propose my attempt at friendship, but they never lose that hint of suspicion. No matter what emotion they take on, his eyes never forfeit that mirrorlike, incandescent green glow.

"You want an alliance this late in the Quell?" His brow creases in confusion and anger still. I can tell he doesn't enjoy being bewildered.

I shrug nonchalantly, answering simply, "It couldn't hurt. My alliance in the beginning didn't get me anywhere."

"How can I trust you?"

That's a good question. It all depends on your willingness to trust, my not-so eager friend. "Because I trust you." With that, I let him free and get up off the ground, dusting myself off. Behind my hidden back, I clutch my spear. He doesn't know this though, so he gets up and just stares at me, waiting for me to talk next.

When I don't say anymore, he goes ahead. "There are only nine left," he states.

I already knew that, Einstein. "Yes," I say instead. "We could work together."

The boy raises one eyebrow curiously. "And what would you do if we were the last two standing?'

Taking a brave step forward, I say, "I find it interesting that you exclude yourself there, only saying _we _until the end. Before I give you my answer, I should like to ask you: What would _you _do if we were the last two standing?"

The boy crosses his arms, chuckling. "You've come a long way, 6. I remember them calling you Skitzy back in the Capitol. I remember you being a frightened, wounded animal when you were first reaped. But now you've grown. We all have. We aren't misfits anymore. The Quell has changed all of us and for some of us, like you, it's for the better. Interesting, huh?"

That's when it all comes back to me. My life back in 6 and my life back in the Capitol. It all comes surging back to the present and I remember every derogatory nickname, every bully, and every person that was ever against me in this cruel world. I almost feel the kindness inside of me twist up and become bitter. I specifically did not want this to happen to me; I wanted to stay the same sane person I was. But now I've been pushed too far.

It's not this boy's fault. It's a combined effort of everyone in this world who despises me and wants to see me die a bloody, unmerciful death. Well, too bad for them. Because I am determined to live through this mess, no matter what is thrown at me.

I shake my head clear of all those thoughts. "Hmm, yes, interesting," I mumble quietly in agreement. I glance up at the boy from 8. He seems to have been cast back into past memories. I wonder which ones are forever burned through his mind and which ones have fallen on the backburner. Mostly the bad ones come to the forefront of my mind. I don't even remember any good memories. Those are the ones easily forgotten.

No, I don't believe that. All that time spent with my former best friend Wynter was not in vain. She still is my best friend. Not even death can reverse that bond or take it away. I won't let it.

I hold out my hand and he looks up. "Callum."

The boy from 8 shakes my hand. "Levi."

"Allies?"

He nods. "Allies."

There is a great crashing noise behind us, and with one glance, we run in the opposite direction. I hadn't realized how long or loud we had been conversing, but apparently, it was loud enough for someone to hear. The Careers? Saul? The Gamemakers? I can't tell.

Picking up my knees, Levi and I blow past the wreckage of the arena. I take the lead and my ally trails behind. He must have breathing problems or something, because he doesn't sound too good. Even once we are beyond the crashing noises, he is breathing too heavily for safety.

"Are you okay?" I ask, tugging my spear along.

Levi eyes my weapon warily until I set it down. "Yes, I'm fine," he breathes. I pick my spear back up.

I continue to lead, and we make good time. We cover a good distance before Levi's breathing ceases. I whirl around, spear in hand. My ally is nowhere to be seen.

And then, as if in slow motion, I see him. He hid around a corner while I foolishly was not paying attention. Also foolishly, I hadn't realized before that he carried quite the knife. As it flew through the air towards me, all I could register was the shiny, curved blade. I didn't have time to duck or block the attack. I watched it come forward through the air. The last few seconds sped up to reality, and time quickened its pace. Levi watches from abroad with his crazed emerald eyes.

The last thing I remember is the cold blade on my skin and blood running down my neck when blackness overcomes me.


	23. Chapter 23

**Rosemary Mayfield, D8**

Another cannon booms today, making that two deaths in one day. The Quell is coming to a rapid ending. It has dragged on for quite a while now, but no one can tell how long because there has been no sun or moon to tell us anything. The arena is growing steadily quieter and dimmer throughout the Quell. The lanterns atop the standing walls are still enough to keep this terrible place visible, however, so I forge on.

Miraculously, I still haven't killed anyone. All I have left are some water skins, a bit of stale bread, my emerald rose, and my shiny metal item. While fiddling with it one lonesome night, I finally came to a conclusion of what I held.

It's a bullet. And where there is a bullet, there are guns.

I can't decipher what this means. Is the Capitol taking the Hunger Games to a whole new level, or is this just a special occasion meant for the Quell?

I have yet to find answers to these pressing questions.

However, I have found solutions. I haven't found any sort of gun yet, so I am assuming that someone else in this arena has found one. Among these people I have suspects: any tribute in Saul's alliance, any Career, or my district partner, Levi. I would hope that Levi has held onto sanity and if he found a gun, I hope he cast it into shadows or destroyed it somehow. If I can, I will prevent lives from being lost. I only keep this bullet in my possession to keep it from being loaded into a real gun.

And so I trudge on.

I shouldn't be here. I wasn't supposed to survive this Quell for very long. Making it past the bloodbath was a miracle, though I believe I had some help there. The Careers have been preoccupied with pursuing Saul during this whole charade, and that leaves me open to doing whatever I please. As long as I stay wary of the other lethal tributes, I stay alive. This has worked for me so far, but in the end, I'm sure the Gamemakers will force me to do some killing. If I am to win, I will have to shed my fair share of blood.

The faces appear in the sky. First, I see Liam, a Career. Next, I see Callum, the boy from District 6. He was in Saul's alliance in the beginning, but towards the end, I saw him once or twice wandering on his own. He never saw me though, so I didn't bother with him. He didn't pose a threat to my nomadic way of life here in the arena.

Suddenly, screams echo across the arena. Following one of my hidden paths, I scramble through the wreckage to find the newest battle. When I grew bored of being left alone, I created small paths for myself to get from one place to another in this arena. I even drew a little map on my hand with charcoal from the Cornucopia. I have a clear path there, too, which is a lifesaver. Each day the supplies dwindle, so I predict a feast sometime soon.

I follow the sound of the screams and finally find the scuffle. My heart falls to the floor when I see who is involved. Ducking under a piece of titanium, I watch inconspicuously as the Careers, led by their insane leader, Romilda, bully my district partner.

"Stop screaming, kid," the boy from 7 whispers just loud enough for me to hear. Levi grinds his teeth together and kicks Romilda's legs out from under her. Scrambling to his feet, Levi tries to make a quick escape, but is caught halfheartedly by the girl from 1, Fiorella. Fiorella pulls him back to the center of the battle ring and shoves him to the ground. Even as she does this, I can tell she is reluctant. Maybe she is tiring of this Quell too, even if she is a bloodthirsty Career.

Romilda picks herself up and surveys her new shaking victim. I know I should help him, but I can't do anything besides make a diversion of myself, which would not end well for me. Levi really isn't my friend; we are just from the same district. That doesn't mean anything in the Games, does it?

My answer is yes, yes it does. I can't just sit here and watch Levi die. Even as I observe the dried blood on his hands and realize that he killed someone, I know that it is the right thing to do. I look around for something, anything to use as a weapon. I don't carry one on me, so I must find a makeshift one. My fingers fumble and find a jagged, broken-off piece of titanium from the walls. It will have to do.

I raise my arm to throw it, but it is so heavy that I can only throw it a small distance. Romilda is the closest to me, so I gather my remaining strength and chuck the titanium. It clocks Romilda right in the back of the head with a loud _thump_ and she falls immediately to the ground. A cannon booms for her, the fallen leader of the Careers.

Spinning on my heel, I run in the opposite direction. Tears stream down my cheeks and I rub them away angrily. I don't want the whole nation of Panem see me cry. A lot of times I cry and I don't know why. I know why this time. It's because, even though Romilda was rotten, cruel, and a killer, I ended her life needlessly and unnecessarily.

I could have gone about that diversion so many different ways. I could have thrown my life down and let Levi escape. I could have thrown water everywhere. I didn't have to kill someone! On top of that, I left Levi there with two more Careers, not caring what happened from there on. Now he will die for sure. I can't stand myself.

I have to go back. I owe that to my district partner now. I can't do a job halfway. I have to finish it. I might be walking into my death, but I guess that's my fate from here. I deserve it. Stumbling through my crooked paths, I turn back and run to Levi.

The scene is how I left it. Romilda is still here, face pale and eyes wide in shock. They stare into oblivion. I shut her eyelids, whispering an apology.

Then I turn to Levi, who the other two Careers just left here. They didn't retreat without leaving their mark, however. A long, deep gash was struck through Levi's stomach, and blood pours profusely. I kneel beside him and caress the hair from his eyes. I can't go on without seeing his emerald eyes again. I know he's on his deathbed and that this small request is still selfish, but I wouldn't be at peace with myself if I didn't.

Levi's eyes flutter when he feels me shift his hair. His whispers something that I don't hear. He repeats it over and over again.

"Papa? Is that you, Papa?"

My voice catches and I choke down more sobs. Levi's father was murdered by Peacekeepers when Levi repeatedly skipped shifts at the textile plants. I remember being just a little girl when it happened, and I remember vowing to never skip shifts because that would lead to my family's deaths. But then my parents died anyway, but I still had my Aunt Judianna and my little brother to protect.

"No, Levi. It's not your Papa. It's Rosemary," I tell him, and the tears win out. They flow freely from my eyes and I don't try to stop them. I want the Capitol to see this.

Levi ignores me. His eyes are trained on the dark sky and I watch them strain to see his late father, desperately wanting him to snap out of it and return to reality. I shake his shoulders, but he doesn't budge. "Papa…I'm sorry…"

"No, Levi!" I screech, feeling my whole world go to shambles. I shake him harder, clutching his face in my sweaty palms. My tears fall onto his face but he doesn't seem to notice. "Levi, come back to me!"

He starts crying, too. My breathing stops for a second and I robotically wipe his tears away. "Papa, forgive me."

"Forgive what?" I ask, gasping for breath. What could he ever have done to deserve a punishment this severe?

"I killed Callum, Papa…I'm sorry…"

I don't know why I say it, because it's wrong, but I reply, "It's okay, Levi. It's okay."

He gasps for breath now, clutching his wound. His face creases in pain and agony and I almost scream in frustration. Before he's gone, I pull out the emerald rose that matches his shimmering eyes. I gather his hands and he doesn't complain. His shaking hands grasp mine and squeeze so tightly to the point of pain. I don't let go. I will miss this pain.

I put the rose over Levi's heart and place his hands upon it. I wish I had one million roses to cover up this ugly wound but this is all I can do. For a moment, Levi takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, settling into a peaceful sleep. My heart swells up and I think: _it will be all right._

Levi's cannon booms and I wipe away the last of my tears. I get up. I walk away as a new person.

I want to win now. I want to win in Levi's honor. I want to win for my parents, Levi's parents, all the fallen tributes, Aunt Judianna, and my little brother. I do not want Romilda's death to have been in vain. I want to win.

There are only eight left now.

I allow myself one last glimpse at Levi in all his peaceful glory. The flower rests upon his valiant heart. A new strength rests upon mine. I keeping walking and don't turn back.


	24. Chapter 24

**AN: We're getting down to the wire now, with only six tributes left. I realized I made a mistake in the last chapter and wrote eight, but I meant six. Sorry for that. Who do you think will win? Vote in my poll or leave a review. I know I don't say it enough but thanks to those who read, follow, or favorite this story. It means so much to me. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Freedom Remmington, D11**

The boy from District 8 died today. We have been expecting this. We think that the girl from 8 will be next because she's the last wanderer, and then we will take out the dwindling Careers. Romilda is dead, and though this may seem cruel for me to say, it's a blessing for us. That's one more huge competitor out of the way. Fiorella, who Clementine claims isn't evil and saved her, and Rudyard are the last of our enemies.

Clem, Saul, and I are all that's left of our original alliance. Josef sacrificed himself, Wynter and Forest died at the Careers' hands, and Callum's death is a mystery to us. Saul is as strong as ever, and Clem has grown a lot during this Quell. At the beginning, I could tell that Saul only took her on as an ally to protect her. But now, little Clementine is a true fighter. She's not some bloodbath victim that nobody remembers after two weeks. Clem has earned her place among this alliance and I feel safe around her. I don't fear betrayal by either of these two honorable tributes. I know that if I don't win, one of them will, and that makes my death seem worth it if my friends live.

But I have to admit, I am starting to feel like a third wheel around those two. They obviously really like each other, and you know what I mean by _like_, but this whole impending doom thing is getting in the way. I also think that the age difference trumps them. Saul is eighteen years old, and Clem just turned fifteen in the arena. Three years isn't a lot, but I know that they are definitely overthinking it too much. It's hilarious, but it's also so frustrating.

Example: I was trying to cook some soup over a fire, but they kept flirting and apparently the 'bonfire' that I worked so hard on was romantic, so I yelled at them to get a room. Then I stomped away and drank my soup alone. Their priceless faces: hilarious. Making me eat my soup like a loner and openly flirting: frustrating.

They keep beating around the bush and it's annoying as hell. So lately, I've been avoiding them when they are together. Don't get me wrong; Saul is really cool and Clem is the kindest girl I know, but when they're together I want to puke.

I'm sharpening my newly acquired knives when Clem approaches me. We set up a camp near the Cornucopia when we finally found it and we have been camping here for a while. I would say days, but there is no way to tell days without a sun in the sky. That is also frustrating.

"Hey, Freedom," says Clem, smiling and sitting next to me. I smile back but don't answer. "Is something wrong?" she asks.

"No," I answer curtly. With a damp rag, I wipe down my knife and then dry it with a clean rag. I can see my ragged reflection in the blade and I dearly hope I don't look as barbaric as it seems.

Clem looks at her perfect reflection, too. There's nothing dirty or haggard about her reflection except for some soot covering her face, but she sighs with me. "We are pretty disgusting, aren't we?"

I snicker slightly and go back to sharpening the blade. Clementine is never disgusting, even in the Hunger Games. Her long blonde hair is pulled back in a practical braid, but some wavy wisps frame her face nicely. Her features aren't perfect, but they are still beautiful. With high cheekbones and clear, pale skin, Clem is the epitome of district beauty. You don't find that kind of natural beauty anywhere anymore. The Capitol is fake beauty and the district people are so worn down that finding this beauty is like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

"Why are you not talking to me?" Clem asks, her sky blue eyes sorrowful.

I sigh heavily, sheathing my knife and getting up. I walk away but she follows. I rummage through the Cornucopia for what seems like hours, but Clem follows persistently. She reminds me consistently that she won't leave until I tell her why I won't speak. Again, frustrating.

At last, I give up. "Fine! Do you really want to know why I'm frustrated with you and Saul?"

Clem jumps slightly, for I had startled her. Instead of answering, she nods silently. Just as I'm about to give it to her, horns blare the Capitol anthem and we all look up to the sky. One Capitol announcer, Guy Astro, starts speaking to the tributes and we pay close attention to his vague words.

"_Attention, tributes. There will be a feast later today in the Cornucopia. You are _all _invited to this special occasion._"

Ha, ha. Joke's on them. "How will they find it?" I scream up to the sky.

"_Follow the paths to your immediate left and they will lead you to the Cornucopia. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor._"

Clem scoffs at me, her arms crossed stubbornly over her chest. "It looks like they bested you there." I stick my tongue out at her.

Saul, who was attempting to construct a more suitable shelter for us, hurriedly finds us. He herds us over to our little camp, packing things up. "We need to find a hiding place," he says. "The others will be coming soon."

We follow his lead and find an excellent little post that sits just around the corner from the golden horn of the Cornucopia. From this angle, we can see any tributes arriving from any path coming towards the Cornucopia. It's a tight fit; we have to squeeze three people in. Unfortunately for me, I am forced between my two allies, and I can faintly hear both of their hearts racing at the close proximity. This is so gross. I force myself to focus on the other tributes that are making their way to the place where we sit in waiting.

Saul's plan is plain and simple. Once the Careers show themselves, we will jump out and attack. It will be three against two; there isn't any way we can lose. Unless the lone wanderer decides to throw a wrench in our plans, we will be all right.

While we wait, I can't help but think about what would happen if Saul, Clem, and I were the last three tributes standing. I cannot kill them. I refuse to. They might try to pull a romantic sacrifice thing, but I highly doubt that will work. One will end up dead, or both, and how will that help? I won't let them kill each other in honor.

I have to accept the fact that two of us have to die for one to live. Either Saul and I have to die for Clem to win or Clem and I have to die for Saul to win. I don't think I could bear winning this Quell if Clem and Saul both have to die. I made a mistake in becoming too close to them, and they made a fatal mistake of falling in love. I don't beat around the bush. I know it's real and in their hearts, they know it, too.

"So, Freedom," whispers Clem. "Why are you annoyed with us?"

"Is this really the right time?" I reply, almost inaudibly.

"Better now than when it's too late."

I hate to admit it, but she's right. I might as well get it out there now. Besides, the Capitol wants a show, and a show I will give them. This is going to be fun.

"Fine, but don't blame me for the truth because you wanted to hear it." I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. "It's blatantly obvious that you both are obsessed with each other, and you both fell hopelessly in love. And it's frustrating for me because you both know it, but you still try to deny it!" There. It's all out. I'm officially free, if only I wasn't barred in this arena.

Saul and Clem's heads snap up and their eyes meet. Their deep gazes bore into each other and it is all the more sickening for me because I am directly in between them. They stare at each other dumbfounded and have a telepathic conversation that I am excluded from. I clear my throat loudly and they look down at the same time. Both open their mouths to say something but I hush them, pointing down to the Cornucopia.

"Look," I whisper. It is the District 8 girl. She hops around the table that magically appeared and grabs various packages, shoving them into one big canvas sack that she found in the golden horn. I hold my knife up and gesture to the girl, silently asking Saul should we pursue her. He internally debates with himself but finally shakes his head, letting her go. The girl stumbles around, but she finally escapes. It was in the wrong direction, however, and we hear her meet up with the Careers. Screams echo and my allies and leap from our hiding place, weapons unyielding.

We race to find the Careers and their new victim. We turn a corner and find Fiorella holding the girl hostage while Rudyard holds a sword to her neck. Saul sees this predicament but doesn't loosen his hold on his own sword. Instead, he holds it higher in the air. Clem and I stand firm at each of his sides.

"Kill her and you both go down," growls Saul, staring straight into Rudyard's calm expression with a determined mindset.

Rudyard scoffs, answering, "And then what? You kill your own allies? Not a chance." He grins sadistically. Fiorella watches in horror as her once ally morphs into a monster. It happens to all of them. She must have thought it was over when Romilda died.

"You underestimate us," Clem speaks up, no quiver or anxiety straining her voice. Only bravery and courage.

Saul doesn't even flinch at Rudyard's words, as if they didn't touch him. But they mirror my exact thoughts. "Things will play out how they play out. You won't touch that little girl."

"So you can kill her yourself?" Fiorella asks warily.

"A quick death by us would be kinder than a slow, painful death by Careers," Saul spits out their name like it's dirty.

The girl stays silent, but I can see her wriggling out of Fiorella's grip. Fiorella is too caught up in seeing Rudyard change and Saul talking that she doesn't even notice when the girl from 8 frees her hands. In a flash, the girl stabs Fiorella and runs right past me. She grabs her canvas sack that she dropped and high-tails it out of here. Smart girl. I'll remember that.

Rudyard immediately backs off when his advantage is gone. We don't get the chance to attack, however, because the hugest hawks I have ever laid eyes on circle above our heads and swoop in, clawing my face and screeching laughter. Screaming in pain, I nearly collapse, but I hold myself up.

Red hot heat scorches my cheek where the hawk's talons scraped me. The pain freezes over and becomes icy and chilling, but not cold enough to be numb. Shaking it off, I realize that my allies and enemies have begun beating off the hawks' attack.

Saul takes on the leader of the hawks, a big, burly thing with feathers the color of bark on a tree. White speckles decorate the backs of the hawks, and their sharp talons and quick beaks are their main weapons. They sweep their wings to push us over, but we dodge those attacks quite easily by simply ducking out of the way. They screech in rage, and my eyes almost start bleeding from the sound of it.

And then in an instant, it isn't survival at the fittest anymore. Everyone joins in to fight off these muttations, genetically engineered monsters from the Capitol laboratories. I find myself slashing birds side-by-side with 'the enemy'. Fiorella stands next to me, and although one million differences separate us, we fight for our lives together. I catch a glimpse of Saul saving Rudyard from the talons of a hungry beast, and Clem is definitely holding her own here.

The Capitol wants us to abandon each other for the birds. They want us to betray each other. Instead, we band together to fight as one whole. The only tribute absent is the girl from 8, and she doesn't even carry a weapon. The Capitol has forced us to fight or flee, and as fighters we stand. We are now a united front, even if it's just for a little while.

When it is all over and ten giant hawk mutts lay dead at our feet, we go our separate ways for this once. Saul, Clem, and I watch as Rudyard and Fiorella back away steadily, watching us warily and then turning and sprinting away.

"Impressive," says a voice from behind.


	25. Chapter 25

**Saul Rigel, D12**

As soon as the war of the hawk mutts is over and we turn around, we come face to face with our old friend, the girl from 8.

"Impressive," she says, her arms crossed over her chest. She carries no weapon, only a canvas sack of supplies over her shoulder. I rest my sword. Clementine and Freedom follow my lead.

"What do you want?" I ask, gasping for breath. I've been busting my ass for these girls' lives and they don't seem the least bit grateful. It is grating on my nerves.

"Protection," she sighs. "And you want supplies, I presume?"

"There should be plenty back at the feast table in the Cornucopia," says Freedom.

The girl from 8 grins slightly, patting her bag that is slung over her shoulder. "Not anymore."

I don't turn away from this sneaky tribute because she could get away. "Clem," I say, "go see if she is telling the truth."

Clem obeys silently and slinks off to the Cornucopia. The 8 girl seems unworried. Clem returns immediately, rushing back to Freedom's side. "It's all gone, Saul," she reports.

"Then it seems that you're coming with us," I sigh. Taking on another ally isn't a good idea this late in the Quell, but she has what we need. Plus, now it is four against two in our war against the retreating Careers now.

"I'm Rosemary," she says, and we shake hands.

"Saul," I say.

"I know," she replies to my surprise. "Your alliance has been the hit of the Quell. And you're Freedom, and you're Clementine." She greets my other two allies amiably.

"Welcome to the love nest," grumbles Freedom from behind, who has been hanging back lately.

"Hey, Freedom, pick on someone your own size," I call from over my shoulder as I walk to the Cornucopia to fish out some more building material. Our makeshift shelter isn't stable enough, and I am tired of sleeping on metal flooring. If my memory from training serves me right, all I need to build hammocks is lots and lots of rope. I'm hoping that some is left in the Cornucopia from the start of the Quell. Rosemary has some back at camp, but I'll need more for four hammocks.

And that's when I hit the jackpot.

There, inside the golden horn, lie miles and miles of rope. It's a miracle! I don't know how this happened and I don't care. It's a blessing and that's all that matters.

I gather up as much of the stuff as I can in my arms and drag it back to camp. The girls are all hanging around, doing absolutely nothing like we aren't in a deathtrap arena. I dump all the rope at their feet and point to it.

"Hammocks," I say simply before turning to go get more rope. Freedom's whiny protests turn me around again.

"Ugh! Why? And what are you doing, walking away? Saul!" she complains.

"Getting more," I say like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Now weave." I look over at our newest addition and motion for her to join me. She nods gratefully because I saved her from hours on end of continual weaving.

Freedom, however, is not blind to anything. She notices right away that her friend is leaving and opens her mouth to protest. I smirk at her and look at her expectantly. Luckily for her, she shuts her mouth and starts weaving hammocks. I have a strange feeling that she's going to put tons of holes and gaps in mine. Clem nervously watches us walk away, but when I wink at her, her whole face brightens up.

Rosemary helps me carry loads of rope back and forth from the Cornucopia to camp. I'm glad for her help because I could have never carried all this rope alone. During this time, I fire question after question at her. Seemingly innocent questions, but what she doesn't know and I do is that underneath the surface of each question, I am finding out more and more of her loyalty and if she will become a threat to my alliance.

"Do you have any family back in 8?"

"Yes, I have an aunt and a baby brother."

So she has ties and isn't totally alone in this world. I notice the parent gap. I wonder how they were lost but don't tarry on that thought.

"Who was your district partner?"

She takes a while to answer that one. When she finally does, it is vague and leaves me guessing. "Just this kid. I didn't really even know him that well."

I think she grew too close to this kid, and when he died, she fell apart. I can feel it coming in my own future if I am to survive and Clem is to die. The mere thought of it is painful to think of, let alone have it really happen. I quickly move on.

"Did you enjoy the Capitol?"

Rosemary hesitates. "It was beautiful, but nothing compares to home, of course."

She avoided my question, but that could be based mainly on the fact that we are sitting in the center of the Capitol's shooting range. They could kill us at any moment and she doesn't want to die from having a fat mouth. I understand that and admire that level of intelligence and awareness.

"What was your training score?"

"10," she grins.

Holy cow. Didn't see that one coming.

"How?" I can't help myself from asking.

She shrugs. "I just fooled around with fire and a dummy. They were much too kind."

Complimenting the Gamemakers. Nice strategy. Yes, this girl is definitely fit for the Hunger Games. Smart, sneaky, and evasive of tough questions. If Freedom, Clem, or I don't win, I hope she does. Rosemary can survive the world of being a victor. I know it.

Once we are finished conveying all the rope back and forth, Rosemary and I sit down to weave ourselves. Freedom and Clem have gotten into a grove and have already finished two out of four hammocks. When we return, they sit back and relax and watch us weave.

My hammock is done within minutes and Rosemary isn't far behind. We tie up our new hammocks in the crushed doorways of the maze. This way, the hammock stays up and no one can barge through the doorways, flipping us and our hammocks over.

Our new camp is well set up. We placed it in a dead end of the maze. The hammocks are spread out in a circle surrounding the center of the floor. Two paths lead out. One goes to the Cornucopia, the other travels into oblivion. A pile of wood is stacked in the middle of the floor for fires. Various supplies are stashed under the hammocks and spread out around the fire. For once in this Quell, I want to stay in one place and not have to keep moving. Luckily with only two Careers left, that shouldn't be a problem.

The first night with our new shelter is peaceful and serene, and it is incredible not to have to sleep on the ground. Freedom takes the first watch and the rest of us fall asleep immediately. Freedom wakes me for my watch, and I am reluctant to have to stay awake for two more hours before Clem's turn.

Nothing happens. The Capitol crowd must be getting bored. There haven't been any recent deaths. Well, that may change soon.

I squash the fire Freedom started because the smoke could alert the Careers. I lay in hiding for my allotted two hours before waking Clem. She groggily gets up and starts her watch as I lay back down on my hammock. Weariness overwhelms me and I sleep for a few more hours until a blinding light appears on the horizon for the first time.

* * *

**AN: This chapter was mainly a filler, and I apologize for that. I hope you liked it anyway.**


	26. Chapter 26

**Fiorella Gage, D1**

Rudyard shakes me awake seemingly minutes after I first shut my eyes. He grumbles something unintelligible before stalking off in the other direction. Sitting up and dusting myself off, I look around and observe our surroundings. It was just how it was when I fell asleep. Titanium pieces here, bits of broken wall there. Everywhere the arena closes in on us and I feel claustrophobic. My ally storms away and I quickly get on my feet to follow.

"Rudyard?" I ask hesitantly. Either he doesn't hear me or he ignores me because he doesn't even turn at the sound of my trembling voice. Over the past few days, this boy from 7 has become more and more distant from me and reality. I always sort of trusted him the most out of all the Careers because he seemed the most stable and level headed, but now I can't think of anyone to trust in this hellhole.

Romilda was obsessive about murdering. Liam was overly annoying and dim-witted. Emil and Brendan died on the very first day. Rudyard is descending in a downward spiral. How can it be that every single one of my allies has either perished or gone crazy within their time during this Quell?

There are only two possible ways to explain this. Either I must be altogether terrible at choosing allies, or they were all normal and I am the crazy one. I can't decide which one is true until I decide that either way it doesn't really matter. No one, not even the Capitol, expects any victor to prance out of the arena, totally unscathed and whistling show tunes, and be mentally and physically healthy.

Besides, who expects me to be the victor?

Rudyard is a lunatic now, but he is definitely capable of killing me and then going on to end this thing. And, of course, there are four other tributes far safer than me. They are still in the arena, but they don't fear their own allies stabbing them in the back. I can't say as much for myself.

"Rudyard?" I ask, a bit louder this time.

My ally flinches slightly as my shrill voice pierces the still air. Whirling around on his heel, he stomps up to me and practically shoves his hand into my mouth. Slowly, he puts his finger up to his own lips and quietly shushes me. "Shh," he says.

It takes all my self-control not to roll my eyes. Instead, I shove his hand away and duck when I see his arm coming around. He takes a swing right over the top of me, and I barely dodge the attack. Backing up towards the wall, I hold both hands in the air to show my surrender. Rudyard backs off, but I can still see the suspicion and wariness in his shrewd eyes.

"I don't want to hurt you," I begin. "I just want to talk."

"Lower your voice," he hisses, pointing his index finger at me accusingly. "You could wake the sleeping willows with that turkey call!"

What the heck? That must be 7 slang because I don't have a clue about what he just said. The sleeping willows? Turkey call? Where are we, District freaking 7? Let's try to keep the slang toned down to the common arena language.

"Fine!" I exclaim in a raspy whisper. "Now tell me what our plan is."

Rudyard relaxes his attack position but I retain mine. I don't know when he will have another spaz attack and I need to be on my guard. He leans up against the wall, propping himself up by one long arm. Glancing around, Rudyard goes into a detailed explanation of where he plans on going from here.

"We can't rely on sheer numbers and strength any longer," he sighs reluctantly. "Which is unfortunate, considering the only reason I joined the Career pack was to be protected by numbers. I knew that if we could hold our numbers, we could always have the upper hand when it came down to tough situations. But I knew we'd be screwed right out of the gate when we lost the kids from 2 and 4. Without them, we were down to four Careers, and those were numbers that we couldn't get back.

"From there, my idea was to always fly under the radar. I noticed almost immediately that you used that technique as well. My suspicions were confirmed when I witnessed you sitting out of that confrontation with 12 and the others."

So someone did see that. I didn't think anyone had caught that, but I was wrong. Apparently, Rudyard had been keeping a keen eye on our allies, especially me. I'm fervently hoping he didn't catch my other mistake when I had shoved Liam off Clementine, the girl from 12, in hopes of saving her life. He doesn't mention it though, so that is a load of my mind. I had been dreading the moment when that event would eventually come to the limelight. And if someone else had remembered that little slip up, they were either Clementine herself or dead.

For a fleeting moment, I ponder Clementine's fate and how she survived this long in the Quell.

Rudyard starts rambling again and this time I pay closer attention because he is actually talking about what I asked of him.

"From here on out, we need to play it safe and use real strategy instead of brute strength. This shouldn't be difficult to carry out. I take it you are some sort of Hunger Games strategist and expert?"

I nod slightly, a tiny grin tugging at my lips. "That was my chosen profession during training. I became a verifiable genius in the business of the Hunger Games, though my skill in weapons lacked. I am an expert in situational and survival issues."

Rudyard nods knowingly. "I thought as much. As I was saying, I think your knowledge will be our greatest asset now that this Quell has dwindled to six players." Running a hand through his disheveled shocks of hair, my ally heaves a heavy sigh and stares intently at the floor. Then he abruptly looks up at me. "That is, if you are willing to stay in this alliance."

And all at once, my ally Rudyard doesn't seem so insane any longer. He is merely exhausted from this Quell and desperate for an ending, whatever that ending may turn out to be. Just like the rest of us, the Games tries our patience, sanity, and loyalty to the very nitty-gritty end, and ultimately, the winner loses all three of those traits. I should have never lost sight of that reason. It was unfair of me to judge him so quickly when I sometimes feel myself slipping into a whole different realm of reality that some may classify as insanity.

Taking a huge breath, I nod to myself, confirming my decision. I hold out my hand to my ally, a sincere goodbye in my eyes. Rudyard takes it in his rough hand, gently squeezing it and nodding back in understanding.

"We had a good run," I say in the end.

He nods. Once we let go, he adds, "Fair game?"

I grin a tiny bit more. "Until next time, my old friend."

"Until next time, Fiorella."

We turn and walk in opposite directions. Before we are totally out of each other's sights, I hear someone whistle like a bird. I turn around and see Rudyard waving in the distance.

"May the odds be ever in your favor!" he hollers across the way.

"And in your favor as well!" I shout back, and with that, I turn and run for my life.

For I am now all on my own in this vast arena and without a clue on what to do next.


	27. Chapter 27

**AN: Please vote in my poll for this story soon because I'm thinking about closing it within a few days. I'm not promising that the tribute you vote for will win, but it's a possibility. The sky's the limit in Fanfiction. Anyways, enjoy reading!**

* * *

**Freedom Remmington, D11**

"I'm so _bored_!"

My allies glance up at me for a split second after my outburst before turning away again. Ugh! There is nothing to _do _around here but sit and wait for nothing to happen. It's like the Gamemakers are teasing me. I thought they liked excitement, but I guess not. Maybe they are still recovering from all the gruesome murders of the past few weeks or maybe not. They could just be playing with us. That certainly would not surprise me. I honestly don't think anything can surprise me anymore.

All anyone does anymore is just sit and twiddle their thumbs. Seriously. I've been twiddling my thumbs for hours on end and no matter how long it goes on, the boredom never ends. Rosemary is weaving baskets, probably a skill she picked up in the textile plants in 8, to pass the time. The lovebirds, Saul and Clementine, play cards with a deck that they found in the Cornucopia. Clem was the only one of us who had ever seen these cards before, and that's because her friend back in 12 was the mayor's daughter who taught her how to play card games.

They tried to get me interested in the game, but to no avail. There are too many individual cards to remember and there is no rhyme or reason to many of the games Clem tries to teach us. Saul understands it, but Rosemary and I are at a loss. So she's using up some of that extra rope Saul picked up and I just sat and did nothing.

I'm so bored. Three words I never thought I'd say in the glorious Quarter Quell.

Without a word, I get up and stalk away from camp.

"Hey, Freedom, where are you going?"

"Away."

"Wait!" I pause mid-step at Clem's worried voice. I don't want to walk away, but I need to do something, anything, to keep my mind preoccupied. "I'll come with you," she says.

Saul's concern is blatantly visible by the expression that crosses his face. His brow creases and subtle grin morphs into a quivering frown. Of course, his worry only concerns Clementine. He won't care if I get myself lost. In fact, if I did get lost, he'd probably laugh at me and move camp as a joke. Hilarious, I know.

"No, Clem, I need to go alone." Alarm strikes her pleasant features. "Don't worry, I'll be back soon."

"Be safe."

"I will."

Walking out of camp gives me a new vigor and spirit. I no longer feel like I rely on three other people to survive in the arena. I can do it myself. The slight jostling of my knife against my hip when I walk gives me a sense of protection. With the sound of my light footsteps ringing in my ears and a small skip in those steps, I sneak off to inspect the arena that has become my home over the weeks.

The Cornucopia is just as we left it: empty. All that's left are scattered remains of broken boxes and crates. Nothing of use is left. As I sneak around the golden horn I keep a cautious and ready hand on the hilt of my knife. Two Careers are still out there. I have to keep my guard held high even after the Quell is over. I have a strange new feeling in my heart, like winning this thing isn't entirely impossible. Almost hope. Just almost.

Stepping in and around the glowing golden horn, I bide my options for the future. I ponder the doomed fate of my friends if I do indeed win. They will have to die; there is no other way. If I am to win and return home to District 11, where no one loves me or cares any longer, then I am to live on with the deaths of my friends and allies weighing on my mind and the thought of their lives being lived in vain upon my heart.

Why _should_ I keep going? Why do I feel this great hope swell inside me and set free butterflies in my stomach? Why should I feel grief for my friends' deaths when they haven't come yet, and might not come at all? Ultimately, _why do I want to live when everyone else in my life has never wanted or expected me to live?_

All I ever was and all I ever will be is the sickly girl from 11. My life holds no meaning and should I win this Quell, it still would hold no meaning. The people whose lives hold true meaning are the ones who sacrifice themselves, like Josef. Josef was just another tribute with a sob story, but he made his legacy great because of his courage that beat down scores of ferocious wolves hell-bent on murdering innocent children. That moment when Josef held his chin high and picked up his bow for the last time was when Josef the boy and Josef the tribute became Josef the hero. He didn't need to become the victor to bring his district pride. He already brought pride to his district by simply being the person he was.

Josef's life had meaning and purpose no matter what anyone says. In some eyes, it may have been cut short by far too many years, but how can any one person or thing or deity control every aspect of a cruel life like the ones we live here in the horrific place called Panem?

All these questions do is create more questions, rather than answers.

Forest was my district partner, my ally, my friend, and my brother. We were related not through blood, but through suffering. We suffered the same pain. We understood each other's silent cries for help even when we didn't realize it ourselves. Life becomes a very confusing thing to live, but with others that care, life seems to sort itself out and become clear only in the end and not a moment too soon. Normally, it is very late when the meanings and reasons for life's difficulties become clear and precise.

The best I can do now is hope that the future will deliver answers for my pesky questions. That fact I can reassure myself with. I will know on day why certain things go wrong and why sometimes they need to go wrong in order for something right to happen in return.

I should probably return to camp. Remembering the fallen tributes has wearied me, and I should like to lie down for a while before it is my turn to take watch over the ominous and fleeting night. We have distinguished night and day only by roughly counting out hours and days. We can't know for sure, but we think we have a good pattern going.

As I am about to leave the abandoned Cornucopia, I hear a rustling and shuffling noise of feet to my left. I look around frantically but cannot find a place to hide besides the golden horn. Without another thought, I leap into the Cornucopia's horn and sit silently, hugging my knees to my chest. There is nothing to do now but wait.

My heart speeds up and beats like a drum. I strain my eyes to listen for the person around the Cornucopia, but the sound of my hearting beating up a storm drowns just about everything else out. It's increasingly difficult to think clearly due to the adrenaline racing through my veins. My limbs twitch and fidget but I hold myself as still as possible.

I hear soft grumbling and sighing as the tribute kicks the broken crates around. I don't recognize the voice or footfalls, so I believe this must be a Career. Probably the boy, for it doesn't sound like a girl. When I hear him alone and without another set of footfalls, my heart rejoices with the prospect of the Career pack being split up forever.

The grumbling noise subsides and I nearly peek outside the horn to look for my newest enemy. When I gather the courage to look out, I see the boy from 7, as I suspected, fumbling with a few pieces of wood from a destroyed box. He's trying desperately to build something, but without nails or the like, construction is impossible. This boy seems to ignore this and continues to try to construct something from these shards of rubble.

I spot his sword carefully tucked away in his belt. His hands are preoccupied. My weapon is suddenly in my sweaty palms. My fingers clutch the blade with a ferocity I never knew I possessed. This is my time to give meaning to my life.

_But does killing someone else give meaning to my life, or give meaning to theirs?_

I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.

What do I do? Where do I hide? Where do I run?

_No, Freedom! No more running and hiding! It's time to fight for your freedom! Just throw the knife, and let this struggle be over with!_

Yes, this is the only answer it seems.

My sweaty hands have a different idea, though. With one wild flick of the wrist, my only knife is wasted and my enemy alerted of my presence. Why did I ever listen to that sadistic side of me?

_Don't tarry now. Fight!_

The boy, Rudyard, I believe, is stunned by the sudden presence of a soaring knife and doesn't even realize it when I tackle him to the floor. He must have weakened over the weeks because it didn't take a lot for a mere thirteen-year-old scrawny girl to take down a monster like this kid. He was with the Careers; that should speak volumes by itself.

The boy struggles under my weight, but I eventually pin his dominant hand, the right hand, under my left foot. I hold his hands to the floor above his head with my own two hands. With my free foot, I knee the boy in the groin and he moans in pain. I know I should scream for Saul, but I want a kill to myself. This is the Quarter Quell and the Capitol won't let me survive if I don't kill _someone_.

All my morals and past teachings of the gift of life go down the drain when I use my teeth to clamp down on the hilt of the boy's sword. Now, I switch my free foot to the non-dominant hand and use one of my hands to grasp the sword tightly. I won't miss my target this time.

And then, the boy finds a bit of strength in him and knocks me off him. He takes sloppy swings at me that I easily dodge. Staggering away, the boy tries to lean against the wall to adjust his balance and I take that as my time to strike. The sword slides away from the two of us and now it is just a fist fight.

As I was taught in training, I attack stealthily and not head-on. Targeting my opponent's weaknesses, like his shaking knees and churning stomach, I jab his gut and thrust my fist into his chin, attempting to activate a nerve to knock the boy out cold. However, my efforts are in vain, for this boy is one tough cookie and he hardly budges at my hardest blows. I can tell that I am causing some internal damage though, and that's definitely not to be ignored.

With the sweep of his hand, this Rudyard kid shoves me off and I stagger back a few feet. The boy charges at me but I sidestep him at the last moment, kicking him in the side and he falls at last. Standing over him, I watch his face contort in pain and suffering as I kick the poor boy again and again. My vision is blinded by a red haze of hate and I grit my teeth. When I know my victim is no longer a threat and is simply waiting for the end, I retrieve my knife from across the room.

There it sits, waiting patiently for its job to be done. Quickly I wipe the blood and sweat off of the knife with my shirttail. For a small moment, I am lost in my reflection in the shining metal. My auburn hair has fallen out of its original braid and is a rat's nest above my head. Bloodshot gray eyes glare back at me and an unpleasant grim frown scowls in the metal mirror. The only thing that remains the same about me from before the arena is my pale skin, and even that has lost its sickly green shading. My cheeks are still hollow and my ribcage still is visible through my simple cotton shirt. Some things just don't change; however, most do.

_Get the job done. Don't let him suffer._

Right. I'm not completely sadistic and barbaric yet. I have some civilization and mercy to hold on to. I'm not entirely lost. Despite the circumstances, this brings an odd feeling of hope to me.

As my steady fingers grip the hilt of the knife, my eyes focus and zero in on my wounded target. I won't stab the boy; I will throw the knife. That way, I stay out of the crossfire. That way, it seems more indirect, when in reality, it really isn't. Either way, it's my fault that the boy will die.

"HEY!"

The shout from behind me nearly causes me to drop the knife and let it go clattering to the floor. My fingers slip but I still keep a firm grasp on the hilt. Spinning on my heel, I see who called to me.

The other Career, Fiorella, stands shakily, fumbling with something in her hands. She points it straight at me, and all at once, my world comes to a sudden and climatic end. I see now that nothing else matters, nothing in the world, but the girl with the gun standing before me.

A gun in the arena. Genius.

_This is the end and that's your last thought?! _

I suppose so. That's about all that's coming to mind now. I wonder if she got all the sponsors. Saul and the others never received anything, so maybe this little artifact took all the sponsors money. Those damn Careers, ball-hogging until the very end of everything.

And then it truly strikes me.

_This is the end of Freedom._

I try to not be distracted by the irony of that last thought. It isn't particularly difficult considering I have another perfect distraction right in front of my face. There is no doubt in my mind that the object Fiorella holds is a gun. The Peacekeepers keep similar ones back in District 11. The tiny one the girl from 1 holds is a small gun, not heavy duty or anything of the like. It probably only carries a few rounds. Still enough to blow me to pieces.

I'm human, not made of steel or titanium.

Another idea pops into my bright little mind as the girl's finger nears the trigger.

With my last bit of strength, I leap back behind a fallen titanium wall and wait for the _ting _of the bullet as Fiorella realizes too late that I leapt out of the way and into temporary safety. But I never hear it. No sounds of bullets. Strange. I thought she was going to fire off a warning shot or something, but apparently she must be low on ammunition.

_Or maybe she has none at all._

Dang, that voice in the back of my head is getting smarter and smarter as the day wears on.

Besides, what can I, a scrawny kid from 11, do against a warrior girl from 1 with a real weapon, not just a dinky little sword forged among thousands? Absolutely nothing, so why not play the game a little more?

Peeking out first from under the wall's eave, I see that Fiorella is leaning down close to Rudyard, examining his wounds. She had set her precious handgun down next to her right hand. She seems to realize that all efforts at saving her ally are futile. Holding her head in her hands, the Career girl lets out small choked sobs before composing herself. Picking up her gun, she takes one last look at her old ally and a tiny teardrop rolls down her face. Angrily rubbing it away, she straightens her posture and sticks her chin in the air stubbornly, but I think we all know it's just for the Capitol crowd. They don't like to see the biggest competitors in their moments of weakness. Fiorella turns around and flees the scene with her old ally still laboring in pain, not looking back once.

I decipher from this that she never really cared much for this Rudyard boy, but she is sorry to see him die. I can understand that to a certain extent. Sometimes, you don't know what you have until it's gone. But it's also true that you don't know what is coming until it has arrived. Fiorella's day will arrive. She'll see.

Retrieving my knife one last time, I force myself to look into Rudyard's young face one last time. As much as I hate it, he resembles my late district partner Forest so much. They share the same dark skin tone and dark eyes. Forest's face was so much kinder as I recall though, and Rudyard's face is too pained and lined with worry. This is unfair for both of them. They deserved to live out long lives instead of short-lived and unfulfilled ones with non-peaceful deaths.

I throw the knife and seconds later, the cannon booms. I have a feeling it was coming soon anyway without the help of my knife. I don't get my weapon back. Rudyard can have it. I don't need it. There are plenty more back at camp.

I don't return to camp. No. I can't go back and face my ally's stunned faces when I say I killed one of the two remaining Careers. Well, now there's just one. But there are four of us. I have a bad feeling about how this is going to play out.

Not caring for my safety, I curl up into a ball and let myself cry.

* * *

**AN: Okay, I just realized this morning that I posted the last chapter twice, and I am so, so, so, so sorry for that. I will try to fix it for the future. Thanks for reading.**


	28. Chapter 28

**AN: I dedicate this chapter to iloverueforever. Thank you so much for all your generous reviews and support for this story. I hope you like this chapter; I know I enjoyed writing it. Happy reading!**

* * *

**Saul Rigel, D12**

By the days we are counting, we believe night has fallen. Still neither sun nor moon has risen. We keep a rough estimate carved into a wooden board broken off from a crate holding survival materials. Soon we will have to find another board, for so many small tallies are filling up the side of the board.

It's been several hours after Freedom stalked away in angry boredom. We weren't giving her the attention she wanted so she walked off to the Cornucopia. I was reluctant to let her go alone, but there is nothing I can do about her life anymore. Her survival isn't in my hands any longer. The only life I care to preserve now is the one that belongs to my district partner.

The mayor's words float back to me as if I'm in a dream. "_You have been chosen, Saul son of Wolfram, to enter this Quarter Quell for a reason…"_

He wanted me to win. He knew I could. The whole District 12 knew I could and that's why they decided to vote for me. They said it was for a reason.

"_It was not fate, but purpose…"_

But isn't that the same thing? Purpose and fate are tied together in the same bundle, not estranged by differences. My purpose in life has dictated my destiny and has driven forward on the path bound for me and only me. There is one single person who can change that destiny and make the path turn a corner: me.

"_They voted you in because they know you _can _win…"_

Do I really want to win, though? More important than bringing pride and respect to my district are my own feelings and motivation. What is truly more important to me, that I live on or Clem, Freedom, or Rosemary does? Well, if I was hard-pressed to answer, I'd really only wish for one of the girls to live on and escape this never ending nightmare of an arena…

No! Don't say that, Saul! Don't fall for it! Freedom was wrong and I will prove her wrong. I am _not _in love with my district partner and that's final.

I do, however, care for her very much. Clementine Mellark, the girl from the bakery, has become like another little sister to me. No one can replace my real sister back home in 12, but in turn, no one can replace Clem either. Both are extremely unique and though they tend to blend into the background, I still see them stand out among everybody else because they are themselves and not anyone else.

My little sister reminds me of Clem, too. While she resembles me with that Seam look of olive-toned skin, alert gray eyes, and jet black hair, my sister holds the same spark in her eyes that reflect her fighting spirit. Like Clem, that fighter inside my sister is obscured by her shyness. But it doesn't even seem like her muteness is annoying, and it never fades her into the backdrop. In fact, the quieter she is, the more intelligent I think she is. She seems to be pondering much more pressing issues and deeper thoughts than the feeble-minded people surrounding her, and I find myself wishing she would share her eye-opening insight with the rest of the world. We call her Irene.

Clem is just the same way. Her knowing eyes analyze with speculation everything and every person we encounter along our way. I don't understand how she can stare at one person and discover thousands of things about that person on both the inside and outside from one glance while all I notice is that their shoelaces are untied. It fascinates and frustrates me to no end. They can comprehend thing far beyond my state of mind and yet they are as quiet as mice! If I was as nearly as intelligible as them, I wouldn't ever shut up.

The biggest difference between my two favorite people in the world is Irene is back home in 12 watching me on a screen as I fight to the death and Clem is standing right beside me in the deathtrap.

Speaking of Clem, she is walking towards me right now. Her brow is creased with worry and her gray eyes filled to the brim with grief.

"Saul?" she asks. I look up from my knot-tying and notice her hands are shaking.

"What's wrong, Clem?" I ask, standing up from my bed. The hammock sways and hits the back of my knees when I stand so abruptly.

Those gray eyes like a mysterious patch of fog dart around nervously. "Freedom hasn't returned and it's been hours since we last heard of her. Do you think…?"

I don't let her finish that thought. My previous thoughts of letting Freedom go off on her own seem so stupid and childish. How could I have ever believed that she wasn't my responsibility? Freedom has done nothing but stand by my side from the beginning of the Quell and if it came down to it, she wouldn't abandon me. Not like I did to her…

"Grab a weapon, quick!" I tell the girls. They obey robotically and follow me as I weave through the maze to the Cornucopia. Just as we reach the entrance, we hear the boom of a cannon and simultaneously we all duck into a hunting crouch, weapons raised and ready above our heads.

I meet the wide-eyed stares of Clem and Rosemary and see the fear and worry mirrored in their eyes. Freedom is only thirteen, for God's sake! She can't die, not now! I can't believe myself! I let an innocent thirteen-year-old girl run around loose in a death arena! If she dies today, I will never, ever forgive myself for as long as I live and longer.

The pressure of the situation falls like an avalanche on my shoulders as my allies and I run for the golden horn of the Cornucopia where two visible bodies lie. One is bloodied and battered beyond recognition and the other is eliciting small choking sounds, as if the body is weeping. Immediately, I race over to the obviously dead body and check it for any sign of life.

I do all I can, but there is nothing to be done once the cannon has signaled. Shaking the person's shoulders and slapping the face does less than nothing to revive this stone cold face. I feel as if I'm slapping stone. The only evidence of this tribute's cause of death is the knife embedded in its gut. Since the fallen tribute has nothing to spare in food or supplies, I join my allies beside the other body.

Relief floods my heart as I take in a scraggly image of Freedom. Her hair is in clumps and her eyes are brimmed with redness. Tears leave distinct trails down her hollow cheeks. Her chest heaves with the effort of inhaling and exhaling. She holds her hands in front of her, not touching her body, as if they are infected. In truth, they are soaked in the reddest blood I have ever laid eyes on.

I carefully nudge Clem and Rosemary back away from Freedom. "I got her," I say simply. Picking up the tiny girl in my arms, I carry her all the way back to camp and set her down gently on her hammock. Freedom falls asleep almost instantaneously and Clem tends to her. Rosemary joins me as I feed the fire with miscellaneous pieces of wood from smashed boxes.

"Is the water supply sufficient for a few more days?" I ask her, pouring a splash of gasoline in with the flames. They blaze up in a kaleidoscope of colors, with fiery orange and iridescent yellow igniting above all others. I think about how Irene's favorite color is yellow because she loved it when the Sun broke through the clouds in the late evening of an autumn day.

Rosemary's voice pierces my thoughts. "Should last us about two weeks tops," she sighs tiredly with her hands on her hips. Squinting her eyes to peer past the eerie darkness above our heads, she adds, "I doubt the game will go on that long."

"It's gettin' down to the wire," I agree, nodding to myself as I watch enchanted by the swirls and curling lips of fire rake the air and crackle the firewood. Thankfully, we are well-stocked in firewood and kindling provided by plenty of boxes and crates from the Cornucopia. I switch my position from kneeling by the fire to sitting. I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my elbows on my propped up knees. Rosemary continues to stand, perched cautiously for our one last enemy who currently is moving in the shadows alone.

Behind me, I hear Clementine whispering and shushing a hysterical Freedom as she wakes up from her peaceful nap. Freedom begins sobbing again, blubbering unintelligibly but she eventually quiets down again. I think she falls asleep again by the sound of soft, even breathing from behind my back. I wonder how she can sleep so much during the course of one day. I can barely sleep for my allotted three hours.

I always have been a restless person. I suppose that translates into my personality as a restless tribute.

My thoughts drift back to District 12 and my family. My community is rooting to bring me home now that I'm so close to the end of the Quell, but I know that my family is the real people who truly want me home. They're the ones who love me unconditionally, not the ones who love me when I am victorious and despise me when I fail them.

"Hey, Saul?"

"Yeah?"

Rosemary glances at me, but her gaze swiftly switches to the fire. She shrugs her shoulders slightly, like she's unsure of her unspoken words. She says them anyway, despite her initial uncertainty. "I was thinking that maybe we should start… you know…_hunting_ the girl." Rosemary shivers and stutters considerably while she speaks, and I can tell she hates every word she utters.

There's unmistakable truth to it though. Every single word she says.

I hesitate with my answer. The whole world is watching to see if I turn into a monster, obsessed with hunting down the last Career, or if I retain my sanity. This is a turning point in the Quell. I must be careful with my words, for sometimes it isn't blade that kills you, but the sharpened daggers that are words.

I nod marginally, keeping my eyes trained on the wisps of flames before my face. I hadn't noticed until this moment before the fire that the arena is a relatively mild temperature. We don't need the fire for warmth, but rather for cooking and boiling water. It is neither too hot nor too cold. I like it. It's better than the extreme climates of 12, where summers are scorching and winters are harsh.

"We shall search for her," I say slowly, each word I speak is mumbled with care and hesitancy. That is all I say, for Clem rejoins us by the fire, settling down in an exhausted heap.

Grunting, she plops down beside Rosemary's feet. "I swear, that girl is driving me up a wall."

Rosemary grins a tiny bit. "Well, there are plenty of walls to choose from."

Clem wrinkles her nose in disgust, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Her bottom lip sticks out stubbornly and I nearly laugh at the sight, but I catch myself before I can. I wouldn't want to risk the fury of Clementine. She just reminded in that moment so much of Irene's pigheadedness. My heart feels a strong aching and I push it aside, demanding myself to get over the homesickness. The arena is no time or place for the longing of home.

"So, what were you two talking about?" Clem asks a bit disgruntled.

"Well, I was thinking that maybe we should go after that girl. She is the only one left," Rosemary says, but her gaze flips from Clem to me.

"And?" Clem inquires.

I don't answer, so Rosemary goes ahead for me. "We agreed that it would be a better idea than sitting here like ducks, waiting for her to stroll in and ruin us."

"That would be very difficult, considering she is but one person and one person alone. It would be increasingly hard to take on four tributes, and I don't recall the girl from 1 being particularly adept at any weapon," I chime in.

"So it is agreed," says Clem, "that we will search for the girl. But who will look after Freedom? I don't feel well about sending off only two at a time to search, nor do I feel well about leaving Freedom to fend for herself while that girl is on the loose."

Rosemary nods. "The Career could slip through us to camp and kill Freedom before we can ever figure out what's going on."

All important matters to consider. The boy from 7, Rudyard, appears in the sky. He was the tribute that Freedom killed at the Cornucopia. At first glance, he was a tough competitor, but it was the shortest stick that was his downfall. Maybe he underestimated Freedom and she took him down while he was acting arrogant. He might have been from 7, but he was a Career, after all. His face dissipates into the sky and I look back down to the dying fire.

After a few moments of silence, I pick myself up off the ground and grab my sword. Tucking into my belt, I summon Rosemary and Clem to follow me.

"Where are we going?" Rosemary asks, though I know she knows the answer.

"To find her."

"But we can't!" Clem protests angrily. "What about Freedom?"

"She has been awake the whole time. She can defend herself, and if she can't, she will sound the alarm and stand her ground until we return."

Clem whirls around at my words and realizes I am right. Freedom was listening in on our conversation and by the intake of her breath at certain times, I could detect that she was awake. She looks up at Clem from her hammock with wide eyes and nods, agreeing with my words.

I put a reassuring hand on Clem's shoulder. At my touch, her shoulders droop in exhaustion and immediately relax. "We won't go far," I say. She nods and sighs, grabbing her knives from under her hammock and joining Rosemary by the path leading away from the Cornucopia. We all wave once to Freedom before taking off at a fast pace.

I lead the way, twisting and turning through the maze. Rosemary continually scratches arrows on the walls that point back to camp with chalk. She draws them near the bottom of the walls so the girl from 1 won't notice them, but we will. The game is coming down to intelligence and not so much survival.

Suddenly, Rosemary gasps and Clem and I spin around on our heels. She points wordlessly towards what looks like a door carved into the titanium walls. Rosemary rushes over to the door and throws it open. She crawls in on all fours, since the door is only waist high. Clem and I share one look and follow.

At first, all I see is a bright light and the feeling of strong heat on my skin. When the world comes back into focus, I find myself surrounded by roses of all colors. I would find this excruciatingly pleasant and peaceful if it weren't for the blazing wildfire to the left and right of us. Rosemary, however, doesn't notice the growing fire. She is too enchanted by the garden that she walks farther into this strange greenhouse room, straight to a bush ablaze with flames.

The smoke blinds my vision as I try to follow Rosemary. Should I try to save her? Yes, I have to. It's like the situation with Freedom. I haven't known Rosemary long, but it is still my responsibility to stay by her side as an ally. I look for her in the smoke, fire, and confusion, but I can't find her. She walked out of my grasp as soon as we stepped foot in this burning garden.

"Rosemary!" I choke out a shout. It pierces the thick smoke and I feel Clem fumble for my hand. I'm glad she is within eyesight at least. Maybe I should grab her and make a run for it. No, I can't!

With an internal battle raging on inside me, I desperately search for Rosemary. At last, my eyes see past the smoke and see a figure a little bit farther ahead. I run for my ally and grab her arm, holding on tightly and racing for the exit.

Rosemary struggles with my grip but I hold on tighter. She eventually gives up and grabs my hand. We run for the door and it's in sight when the impossible happens.

Clementine falls to the ground, tugging me down with her. A blazing branch fell off of a nearby tree and fell onto her leg, impaling her and dragging her down. Clem screeches in fiery pain and I feel my heart stop beating.

"Clem!"

She screams again, but no words are tied in. My heart sinks to my shoes and my lungs seem to lose all the air in them. The oxygen is sucked out as the fire runs up and down Clem's leg. Her hand grips mine but is forced to let go. I kneel down to her, taking her face in my palms and forcing her to look at me dead in the eyes.

"Clem, stay with me," I plead in a low mumble.

She doesn't answer. Her face is contorted with pain but her trembling hand finds its way to my cheek, wiping away tears I didn't know were falling. Biting her lip and forcing her eyes open, Clem looks at me one last time and whispers the tiniest word. "Go."

I shake my head stubbornly. "No," I whisper. "I promised myself this wouldn't happen. I won't let you leave me."

Clementine tries to smile a little but the pain is too great. I should end her misery and suffering now but my hands won't move. The heat is growing all around me but neither Rosemary nor I make a move to abandon Clem in her final resting place.

"I'm sorry," I mutter, more tearing falling. I don't try to stop them. "I'm so sorry." I bow my head in grief but she raises it with the tips of her gentle fingers.

"I forgive you," she whispers. With that, she shuts her eyes as the fire overtakes her. She lays her head down on the flaming grass and Rosemary pulls me back before I am ignited with flames. My ally drags me out the door and we gasp for clean oxygen after that smoky greenhouse.

Clem's cannon booms as the last few tears stream down my cheeks and hit the floor.

When my strength returns, so does my anger. I turn on Rosemary who looks on with wide, frightened eyes.

"This is your fault," I mumble, turning my enraged glare from my hands to Rosemary. I slowly get up off the ground that I don't remember falling to, stepping ever so carefully towards the girl. "If you hadn't waltzed into that fiery dungeon, _she _wouldn't have died. This is your fault."

Shoving her against the wall, unmistakable red fury clouds my eyes and I hold the girl in a chokehold. She struggles against my grip and when I realize the monster I have become, I cast her aside.

"Run," I threaten. "Run as fast as you can before I come after you again."

She turns just as the knife reaches her throat. Except the knife wasn't from my hand, but another's. I draw my sword, preparing to fight.


	29. Chapter 29

**AN: I closed the poll today and I thank all of you who voted. The question was "Who do you think will be the victor of the first Quarter Quell? Ironically, it was Rosemary who won. Congratulations to Rosemary! Unfortunately for her, it was a bit late…**

**Anyway, enjoy reading!**

* * *

**Fiorella Gage, D1**

While sitting and sulking all alone, I hear screaming from around the corner. Curiously, I peek my head around the corner towards to noise and see a peculiar sight. I ready my throwing knife in my adept right hand.

Two tributes stumble out of a strange little door in the wall. That peaks my interest more than anything else and I mentally berate myself for not noticing that before. How could I have missed a freaking door in the wall? Is it an escape from the arena? Obviously not, or else those two tributes wouldn't have come back into the arena. This is a noteworthy development; I think I'll investigate some more.

I recognize the two tributes right away when I see their faces clearly. It's Saul, the valiant leader of the outer district alliance, and Rosemary, the maze wanderer from 8. She gets around. I wonder if she joined the alliance. My thoughts are immediately cast aside when I see Saul turn on her.

Pinning her to the wall and choking her, I watch and wait as Saul turns into a murdering monster just like Romilda and Rudyard. With every breath I take, I hate to see it happen to another innocent tribute that's just trying to survive. But surviving means different things to different people. Some think you need to fight and kill to survive. Others think you need to run and hide. It's all about perspective, I suppose.

Casting her aside, Saul composes his rage and tells the girl to run. I take this as my opportunity. I fling my knife at the girl and it slits her throat, slicing through her neck and clattering to the ground, stained red with blood. Rosemary's eyes roll back in her head and she collapses to the floor. Her cannon booms in the distance. Saul doesn't hesitate to unsheathe his sword. Glancing around warily, he holds the silver weapon above his head and comes towards my way.

I can't take on this boy. He is too skilled with that sword. Besides, I just used my last knife. All I have left is a whip that I found at the very bottom of my old backpack. I just kept it for looks, but now it seems I might have to actually use it.

Unrolling the whip and taking a few steps back, I prepare for the battle of the Quell. This is the final showdown. This is it. Career versus outer district. 1 versus 12. I feel like the whole game has come down to this very moment and the whole Quell will change in correlation to this decisive battle. There are no distractions this time. No other players to get in the way. It's finally dwindled to the last two tributes with fighting ability and the whole Quell hangs in the balance.

To bring pride to my district, I have to become victor. To become victor, I have to win the Quarter Quell. To win the Quarter Quell, I have to beat Saul from District 12.

This is the showdown that decides it all.

Other than Saul and myself, there is only one tribute left. I won't worry about that little kid running around right now. I need to focus and get my head in the game.

In a flash, I pick up an hour's worth of observation of my opponent. I only take a fraction of the time other people take to analyze situations. Saul has a heavy sword, but the weight doesn't seem to be a burden upon his shoulders. His clothes and boots are tattered from wear and tear of the arena, but there seems to be a slight scorched scent about him. Was he caught in a fire? That explains the smell and puff of smoke that came out of that tiny door along with Saul and Rosemary.

Before I can notice much more, Saul springs into action. He doesn't waste any time at all. Ducking to dodge his slashing sword, I hear the whistling of the blade hissing through the air with certainty and strength. On my knees, I flick my whip around and it slices the boy's ankles. Blood pours profusely through his thin socks and his head snaps up to meet my gaze. I keep my expression blank and even. While he is distracted within our gaze, I kick his bleeding ankles and he is knocked off his feet and falls to the floor, landing with a hard _thump_. I wince at the sound but pick myself up and gather my whip up again, preparing to strike again.

I bend over Saul's lying figure and while he's fingering to find his sword near him, I knock the weapon from his hand and it slides across the floor. I pin him to the floor, using my feet to nail his kicking legs to the ground and both my hands to keep his hands still and above his head. The boy from 12 is forced to stare straight up into my eyes and face his imminent death.

Being the Career I am, I stretch the misery out, just like the trainers at home taught me. They also said that nothing quick and done easily is efficient or honorable. Plus, they said it is always more fun to bring the squeamish fear of tributes out into the spotlight. I can practically hear them cheering for me, screaming at me to make this long and painful.

I bend even lower so I am level with Saul's ear, and he flinches at the close proximity. I grin a tiny bit in evil satisfaction just for the Capitol citizens who are watching. They'll be hooting and hollering about this moment for decades. I can imagine the interviews I'll be having already.

"Nice of you to finally show up," I hiss in the boy's ear. "I've been waiting quite a while for you, Saul."

He doesn't respond, and I can tell that I am testing his patience. I decide to have a friendly little conversation with my old friend. Besides, when else will I have the chance to talk with good ole Saul? Never, if this goes according to plan.

"I see you were friends with the Maze Wanderer there," I say.

His eyes are confused now. "Maze Wanderer?" he whispers, bewildered.

I roll my eyes and feel his legs kicking again. I dig my long fingernails into his wrists and the skin breaks ever so slightly. I dig my claws into his wrists until blood drips from the scrapes. My grin returns when Saul winces in pain.

"Yes, I made up nicknames for the tributes that I didn't bother learning their names. Maze Wanderer was from 8, Skitzy was from 6, the Southpaw Savior was from 3. You, my good friend, are the Valiant Leader. But when I realized that you were worthy of being remembered, I caught your name. So, _Saul_, what will District 12 do when their last chance tribute is gone?"

I hope he catches that each one of those dead tributes I named were from his alliance and all perished. By the pained look in his gray eyes, I can tell that I hit home pretty hard. Good. That's just what I wanted.

To my surprise, his expressions morphs from one of suffering to one of crystal-clear smugness. His sly little smirk wipes my sadistic smile right off my face. "What do you call the girl from 11?"

He's obviously trying to stall, so I give him something to chew on. "The Wicked Witch."

I love provoking people. It must run in the Career blood. Saul's face turns red with anger and underneath my hands, his fingers ball into fists. With a new vigor, Saul throws me off and launches me into a nearby wall. My head hits the titanium with a sickening _crack _and my vision looks like a swamp for a really long time. When things finally clear up and the whole entire room isn't spinning in front of my two eyes, I see Saul's silhouette standing over me. Blood is running down his arms and ankles, but he lets it bleed defiantly. I try to crawl away but he catches me by the collar and shoves me to the ground.

I peer up over my lashes and see Saul has rediscovered his handy dandy sword. Shit. Just as he brings it down like a hammer, I roll in the other direction and narrowly miss a sword to the face. I literally see the blade slashing the thin air between me and where I was lying a few seconds before. The blade hits the metal floor and sparks fly, denting the sword and dulling it. The longer I can stall, the more it wears down until it can't slice an envelope open.

I use my lying position to kick the heavy sword out of Saul's tired and bleeding hands. He fumbles with the hilt of the weapon before I use my remaining strength to kick it. He loses his whole grip on it and it slides across the room yet again. I crawl away while Saul is distracted by his bloodied hands. I get up and prepare to run but my poor vision backfires and I slam into three walls while trying to escape.

Saul chuckles darkly. "They should call you the Escapist because you are quite the escape artist."

I whirl around, not caring about anything now but protecting my pride in front of the whole nation. This has gone far enough.

Boldly, I shout, "For your information, I am the one who escaped the clutches of the horrifying place of District 1. I was born and forced to live in that hellhole and guess what? I escaped and got myself here. I wasn't voted in by accident; I caused my reaping directly.

"I escaped the Career alliance. I am the sole remaining member of the tributes from 1, 2, and 4. And don't tell me that doesn't take skill, or talent, or wits because it takes a whole lot more than that. It takes guts to leave behind everything you've ever been taught just to live to see one more day where the light of day doesn't even shine.

"I will escape this arena," I stand up straighter when I talk of this. And Saul seemingly shrinks down into the wall, staring at his incompetent hands. "I will escape this arena and become victor. After all the years of hard work and heart I've put into this, there is _no _way I am going to give it up so easily."

I pick up the whip, rolling into a lasso and grabbing the handle. My target is slumped against the wall and looks completely defeated and inspirited. As I take one long last look at my weapon, I think to myself that I guess this is the end of Saul from 12. Just as I am about to life the whip, a small whisper is heard from Saul's shaking voice.

"My reaping wasn't an accident, either." And then he shuts his eyes, as if I could kill him now that my interest in piqued. I couldn't kill him now, not when he's given me a piece of irresistible drama. I lower the whip and take a step towards my enemy who is not that different from me now.

Those strange gray eyes peer up at me in a state of bewilderment. He was expecting a quick death after that statement, but now I must hear more of this poor boy's life in the impoverish district of 12. Maybe more goes on there than anyone lets on. That is certainly an interesting development.

Saul cowers into his jacket, pulling his collar over his chin and mouth as if he was cold. He rubs his eyes like a small child and pushes his straight crow black hair out of his vision. His skin has lost that red glow of anger and has returned to its normal olive toned color. I can't help but remember that the girl from his district that I called Goldie Locks, and I recall her looking that exact opposite of this boy. She had golden hair and sky blue eyes with pale white skin like those old fairy tale princesses. I wonder why these tributes look so different when they come from the same district. All the Careers look relatively the same: all muscle and arrogant smirks.

When the boy continues to stare at me incredulously, I say simply, "Go on."

With my encouragement, he opens up. "My district is desperate for a winner. They all voted for the tribute who they thought could win the Quell. Apparently, I was chosen because I have been working in the mines for a few months now and I've grown up as a starving child. They thought I had the strength and spirit to fight and win." Saul shrugs, wincing with the effort. "I guess they were wrong."

This is crazy. The poor, feeble-minded wimps of 12 managed to do something intelligent for once in history? This is too weird. Back in District 1, we were always taught that the outer district, especially 10, 11, and 12, were filthy, barbaric dogs that have no chance of ever winning the Hunger Games. This has to be a brainwash.

Shaking my head to clear it, I say, "I'm sorry if this sounds rude, but we were always taught that the people of 12 were disgusting animals that can't ever win the Games or use their brains. I'm guessing that was a misconception?"

Saul gazes at me with his mouth gaping. I open my mouth to apologize and defend myself, but he jumps ahead of me, covering my mouth with his hand. I immediately jump to the defensive, but when I hear his hushed whisper, I understand his hesitancy.

"Don't say those things about your district here! The whole nation is listening in, including the President and his beloved Capitol."

And then I understand. I pull back, standing up and pacing. Now I have an internal debate inside of me. Can I kill this boy? I practically know him and his story now, so how can I so easily flick my wrist and end his life? He doesn't seem too concerned by the idea of death, the poor boy.

I take a good look at Saul and realize I have been calling him wrongly. The mere word of _boy _doesn't really describe the tribute from 12. He is more of a man than any other tribute that was or is here in this arena. After a moment of speculation, I can't stand the mystery any longer.

"How old are you, Saul?"

The mysterious tribute from 12 was rubbing his bloodied wrists that I now feel guilty for scarring. He glances up from his hands and then looks back down, answering gruffly, "Eighteen."

Just as I suspected. This boy, excuse me, _man _is one whole year older than I am. He certainly could pass for younger. I thought he was closer to sixteen or seventeen years at least. Looks are deceiving.

"I'm seventeen," I add to break the prolonged silence.

I get no response in words. Saul just glimpses back up at me and then back down to his hands. Whatever. I don't need his attention or adoration, although I received both back home from basically all the boys at school and the Academy. Now is the time to decide my next move.

Saul isn't going anywhere. That much is certain. Either he'll wait for me to kill him or he will wait for death to find him here. Should I string his life along? I wanted to before, but that was before I knew him. And even now I don't actually know the guy. I just know how he ended up with the death sentence.

Maybe—

The walls rattle.

I look over at Saul and he peers up from his hands that he wrapped in torn cloth. The walls continue to shake and rattle periodically. We listen carefully for any sign of mutts of Gamemaker device.

The ground shakes a tiny bit.

Suddenly, I hear a booming crash and more rattling sounds. It sounded like another wall fell. But that was only after an earthquake…

Oh no.

I barely have time to blink before Saul is screaming at me to duck. Foolishly, I look up instead of ducking and there is where it all went wrong. Saul still shouts at me and I don't hear him because all I'm seeing and hearing is the collapsing of the nearby wall over my head and the sharp snapping sound of my bones under crashing titanium.

"FIORELLA!"

And then it's all over.


	30. Chapter 30

**AN: Chapter 30!? I can't believe it! This is the longest story I've written so far and I'm so proud and amazed at its progress. I dedicate this chapter to all those who have read this story from beginning to end because that really means a lot to me. Happy Reading!**

* * *

**Saul Rigel, D12**

The earthquake continues long after Fiorella is killed from that weak wall that crumbled above her. I try to stay in the center of the narrowing paths to prevent her ill fate from befalling me. The floor beneath my wobbly legs sways to and fro and I stumble several times. I finally stabilize my weak knees and sprint for camp. It takes me a while to realize that the only reason my feet are stable again is because the quake has ceased to exist.

Running into camp, I see Freedom nudging the dying bonfire with a metal poker. The silver tip of the poker flares up and becomes a bold red color with a subtle orange around the cooler edges. Freedom sets the poker down and looks up at me with wide eyes. I glance down and realize what a mess I am. My clothes are torn to shreds and the leather of my boots is worn to the soles. My dark, coarse hair has grown longer over the course of the Quell and reaches below my ears. It isn't terribly long, but it's longer than I've ever grown it out. Normally, I keep it almost as short as an army buzz. Then it doesn't bother me. I tore the sleeves of my shirt to create makeshift bandages for my bleeding wrists, but the blood has soaked through and is dripping down my hands and pooling on the floor by my feet. On top of that, my battle with Fiorella probably has me covered in bruises from head to toe, and I wouldn't doubt it if I have a broken finger or two. I'm starting to feel the adrenaline drain and the pain blaze up.

Freedom's eyes look nearly light violet in the firelight, but I know they are truly gray like misty fog, just like mine. She's gaping so openly at me that her chin nearly grazes the floor. I grin a tiny bit, slumping down by the fire and just lying there on the floor, facing up at the invisible sky.

We no longer feel the need to whisper or watch our words for fear of eavesdropping. There is no one left to listen in to our plans. From one perspective, that could be seen as a really good advantage. But from my perspective…

"When I heard the cannon, I thought I was all on my own," says Freedom, turning her attention to my bleeding wrists. She picks one up and examines the mediocre wrapping, beginning to unravel it.

I yank my hand away, clutching it to my chest and cradling it there. The blood stains my shirt and smells nasty, but I can't have her unravel them. "Don't," I say. "It could reopen the wound and start the bleeding back up again."

She clicks her tongue, getting out the first aid kit. "They're already bleeding fiercely. You could need stitches."

I shake my head. "I won't need stitches. Either I'll die before they're necessary or the Capitol will fix them." With these words, I try to convey that the game is still evenly fought and either one of us could survive. I also try to say that I won't betray her ever, not even if my life depended on it. That is not why I created this alliance and that still holds true despite the fact that we are the only ones left in this Quell.

The Capitol will be hungry for a dramatic finale. Unfortunately for them, that's not what they will be getting.

Freedom nods her head thoughtfully, digesting my words and putting the medicinal kit away. Instead, she breaks some rolls and hands one to me. Thankfully, I gobble down two rolls and drink two bottles of water. Now that I notice, we are getting dangerously low on water. We only have one jug left and a few water skins. That won't last us one more week between two people. On the subject of food, we have little to nothing left.

"What do you think the sponsors are doing right now?" Freedom speculates. "We haven't received a single thing."

I chuckle. "They probably pooled their money threw a grand party."

Freedom smiles and hops up. "Do you think there would be princesses there?" She looks up to the sky dreamily, twirling in circles and pretending she had a flowing gown, dancing away in the darkness of the arena. "I love princesses and fairy tales. They're my favorite."

This makes me crack a smile. Freedom, who has proved herself a vicious fighter and ruthless survivor against all odds, loves fairy tales. We must look like a total wreck, her prancing around like she's at the ball and me lying face up on the ground like a fool. I hope the Capitol audience is getting a kick out of us while they can, because sooner or later the Gamemakers will arrive at the party to screw things up.

Now that I think of it, the Gamemakers are probably letting us have this moment right here. We won't ever have another moment like it, so they are allowing us to enjoy it and savor it because this is our once-in-a-lifetime shot at complete serenity. I know neither one of us would ever become a drugged out victor, living a meaningless life of nightmares and solitude. But without that, we will never again be completely _whole_, on the inside and the outside.

Even now we aren't whole. It's not you who makes you whole; it's the others around you. Clem's gone. Rosemary's gone. Josef, Callum, Wynter, Forest, Fiorella, Rudyard, and even Romilda. They are all passed on, never to return to this life. They perished in the arena. Even the most despicable like Romilda and Callum didn't die for nothing. They all stood for something, whether it be good or bad, it all matters on perspective.

Take Callum for example. You probably weren't expecting me to single him out as despicable, were you? Surprised? Well, anyone would be if they hadn't have seen how he escaped in the alliance's time of need. I was the only one who noticed his vacant eyes when he met my gaze during a battle with the Careers. I saw with my own two honest eyes when he turned his back on us. The others thought he got lost in the arena, but I didn't bother telling them about his betrayal because he died only a few days later. But that is a tale for another day, when I can tell how everything went down.

While I am thinking to myself, Freedom is spinning around still, slow dancing with an invisible prince. She dances around my sprawled out body, periodically leaping over my torso or head with her routine. Sometimes, she throws in a cartwheel or another gymnastic move that blows my mind whenever someone preforms it. I remember as a young boy that I always wanted to be a gymnast, but I never even tried to pursue that dream because the kids at school would bully me for taking part in a girl's sport. Plus, it was unfit for the trade of District 12. Being a gymnast in the mines doesn't help one bit when a spark flies.

Freedom's remark about fairy tales gets me thinking about the ones I heard as a kid. "Did you ever hear of the one about the princess and the frog?" I ask her.

She laughs cheerfully, bounding around the bonfire. "Oh please, there isn't one I haven't heard!"

I smirk. "Challenge accepted."

She stops dancing and turns to face me, hands on her hips defiantly. "I dare you to try to think of a fairy tale that I haven't already heard or read. I bet you can't do it."

I pucker my lips, readying myself for possible defeat. I'm not too sharp in subjects like this, but I do remember a few tales because I would tell them to my little sister, Irene, at bedtime. I dearly hope the tales from 12 are different from the ones in 11…

"Cinderella?"

Freedom laughs. I take that as she has seen it.

"Snow White and the Seven Dwarves?" Nothing. "Sleeping Beauty? The Little Mermaid? Aladdin? Rapunzel?"

Each and every one is shot down by my mischievous ally. She seems so confident about her answers that I don't even question her about it. That is, until the last one.

When I was completely spent and defeat seemed imminent, one last tale came to mind. This was my last resort.

"Beauty and the Beast?"

Hesitation. That was the first thing I noticed. And in those two split seconds of hesitation, I realized I had finally got the expert in her Achilles' heel.

Freedom, however, tries to cheat. Shrugging, she says, "Heard it."

I sit up, pointing at her accusingly. "What's the story then?" A small smile twitches up on my lips and I can't hold back my excitement. I didn't actually think I was going to win!

"Well, the beautiful girl fell in love with the Beast. The end."

Oh, I don't think so. "Really? What color is the princess's dress?"

"Yellow!"

"Lucky guess."

She shrugs, a smile playing on her lips this time.

Next question. I won't give up so easily now that I have a chance at winning. I didn't realize until now how competitive I am. Losing seems so depressing and impossible at this point. "What's the princess's name?"

"Uh… um…"

I spring up, altogether forgetting where I am and the circumstances, screaming, "Ha! Got'cha! I win!"

Freedom puts her hands on her hips, but this time she's irritable because of her loss. She rolls her eyes at my excitement. "Well, what's her name?"

"Belle," I say as if it's obvious.

Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open. "I knew that!"

I laugh uncontrollably. "No…You didn't!" I gasp in between peals of laughter.

"So tell me the story," commands my ally, sitting down by the dead fire and curling up like a lazy cat. She leans forward, listening attentively.

I raise my eyebrows. "The whole entire story?"

"Of course!" she exclaims, throwing up her hands.

"Well, there was a prince who turned away a beggar, and she turned him into beast and all his servants into household objects. She gave him a rose that would bloom until he turned twenty-one, and if he didn't love and wasn't loved by then, he would stay as a beast forever."

Freedom watches with big eyes. She is so rapt that nothing could tear her away from this moment. The story of the Beauty and the Beast is such a beautiful one that I can't believe Freedom hasn't already heard it. More images and words flow into my mind and the story flows forth like a steady stream of thoughts and pictures.

"An inventor and peasant man named Maurice ventured off into the woods one day, away from his village and daughter. He stumbled across the Beast's castle and the Beast imprisoned him. Maurice's daughter, Belle, who was adored by her village for her breathtaking beauty, was led to the castle by Maurice's horse. Belle offered to take her father's place as prisoner of the castle and the Beast agreed. Maurice went back to the village and told people but they thought he's crazy.

"Belle befriended the transformed servants, a talking candelabra, tea pot, tea cup, and clock. Initially, the Beast and Belle didn't get along and Belle tried to run away. She was attacked by wolves and the Beast saved her. Then they became friends and the Beast showed her the library because she loved reading. Gaston, a man from the village who wanted to marry Belle, threatened to put Maurice in an asylum if he didn't allow Gaston to marry Belle."

Freedom gasps in surprise but doesn't say anymore. I grin slightly before going on. I can't help but love every bit of this sweet little moment of story time. We are standing up to the Capitol, saying that we aren't afraid of them and their antics, just by simply sitting here and telling a fairy tale. My grin creeps into a slow, wide smile.

"The Beast let Belle see her father through his magic mirror. When Belle saw that Maurice is dying in the woods, the Beast let her go find him and gave her the mirror. After she left, the Beast told the talking clock, Cogsworth, that he loves Belle."

"Aww," Freedom sighs, smiling blissfully to herself. "I knew that would happen."

"Belle found Maurice and they went back to the village where Gaston was waiting to carry out his plan to put Maurice in an asylum. But then there was a twist."

Freedom sits up excitedly, just as I expected her to. She rests her head upon her hands, staring attentively to me and my story. Her auburn hair falls forward to brush her shoulders and I notice the edges of her hair are scorched from the burning garden. Without even touching my head, I know that most of my hair must be scorched from the flames as well.

"Belle proved that the Beast is real by using the mirror and that Maurice was sane. Gaston then rallies a mob to kill the Beast and leads them to the castle. He traps Belle and Maurice in a basement, but it turns out Chip was hidden in Belle's bags and he uses one of Maurice's inventions to free them.

"The mob fights the household item servants and Gaston fights the Beast. When the Beast sees Belle coming back, he gets his strength back and beats Gaston. He spares the man's life and ordering that he leave the castle. But Gaston stabs the Beast and then falls off a balcony and dies."

I look up at Freedom. I chuckle slightly at her terrified expression. She's biting down hard on her fingers and her gray eyes are wide and frightened. The short, tiny hairs bordering her hairline stick up in all frantic directions. At the news of the Beast's attack, she has a tiny intake of breath, but it is soon released when she hears of Gaston's death. She shakes her head sadly and sighs in despair.

I go on for the finale. "The Beast begins to die. The last rose petal falls as Belle tells the Beast that she loves him. The spell is broken and the Beast returns to a man. They kiss and the servants return to their human forms. Then they dance in the ball room and they live happily ever after."

"The end," whispers Freedom.

* * *

**AN: Does anyone else love Disney movies? No matter how old I get, I still love them to death. Sorry about the filler chapter…but don't worry, there's more action to come soon.**


	31. Chapter 31

**Saul Rigel, D12**

After Freedom mumbles the finale of the story, a deep rumbling is heard from beneath us. We stand up immediately, jumping to our feet and hanging tight to any nearby object. Fearing another oncoming earthquake, I usher Freedom to the center of the camp where nothing can fall on top of us like the wall fell on Fiorella. The rumbling fades away into oblivion after a prolonged moment.

Our shoulders droop, relaxing. The tension has entirely disappeared, though. I can still sense it in the air all around me, like an aura of apprehension surrounding me and my ally in a thick haze. Our anxious gazes meet and convey the same thought.

"This must be the finale," I mutter under my labored breath, searching Freedom's mica gray eyes from any sort of treason or betrayal. I find nothing but pure fear, doubled in the eyes of a thirteen-year-old girl.

A bright light appears above our heads. I hold my hand up to my brow, shielding the glare from my eyes so I can see. The light dims and a face appears in the sky. It's Fiorella, the last of the Careers. The Capitol must be catching up on the fallen.

The one difference I detect in this image of Fiorella before the Quell and my memory of her after the Quell had changed her is she appears much cleaner. Her face is free of blood and grime, and her face and body aren't covered in purple bruises and fresh scars. Her bright blonde hair is combed back into a flawless ponytail and her brown eyes shine with a slight glint of wisdom.

Aside from outside appearance, she wasn't much different. That is expected from a Career, who train their whole lives to be victors. They prepare themselves for the blood, gore, and death. They train to forget the loss of life and focus only on surviving. They are the true warriors; the rest of us tributes only sit back and hope we die quickly. Fiorella may have been wiser than the rest of those hot-headed, volatile Career tributes, but she was no more compassionate than them. I look straight into her fiery eyes and feel no sympathy.

Next is Rosemary. This tribute was an interesting one, that's for sure. I don't remember ever feeling any empathy toward her for being a loner for so long in the arena, but I do now. I won't ever forgive her for leading Clementine and I into that burning garden, but I know that it wasn't her actual fault. It was merely ignorance that led her to cause the death of my friend. And it was the same ignorance that cost her life.

Maze Wanderer was what Fiorella called her. I don't remember Rosemary much during training before the Quell, so I cannot adequately judge her if the Quarter Quell had changed her morals or motivations at all. She always seemed rather innocent and ignorant, but she had a spark to her that signaled she knew something that the rest of us didn't know. I watched her fiddle with something in her pocket often, and wondered what it was that she kept hidden from her allies so late in the Quell…

I suppose it does not matter now. She is dead, never to return to her younger brother and aunt back in District 8. Her sad, freckled face dissipates into nothingness.

Clementine's face shines through the sky. To my disappointment, my memory of her does no justice to her. Just like a town girl, her blonde hair and blue eyes stand out among the dark coal mining district of 12. Clem is one of the only tributes to smile in their picture. Her little lopsided grin is the last thing I register before her image ebbs away.

The glorious anthem of Panem rings through my ears and dies away, just like everyone else I knew and know. Freedom eventually relaxes her stiff position and walks away to find something more entertaining to do. I am left standing alone, wondering what is to happen next.

Freedom and I are all who remain. One must die for the other to live. But we have been allies from the start and fast friends. Obviously, the Capitol will be betting their precious money bags on the eighteen-year-old survivor from 12. Compared to Freedom, the scrawny thirteen-year-old from 11, I probably have a better shot at winning. But if winning the Quell means killing Freedom, what am I to do?

Can I kill Freedom?

Of course I can. But will I?

No, not to go back to a filthy, undeserving place like 12 just to bring honor to my district. They really don't deserve it. They forced me into the Quell without consent and me making this far is too good for them. The only thing bringing me home would be my family. Not to please the Capitol either.

"Saul?"

I turn around and see Freedom, sitting cross-legged on her hammock while weaving a basket with extra twine we found the other day. She winds the twine to wide and creates loops much too big to build a basket. Unraveling it, she starts over and winds the twine up again.

"Yes?" I ask, subtly edging her to go on.

"You've been kinda spaced out lately," she mutters, fumbling with the half-woven basket. Then she looks up to meet my even gaze. "Is everything okay?"

Looking down at my boots, I kick a remnant of rubble away and it bounces off a wall. I watch it thoughtfully, finally coming to a conclusion. I can't give her pretty answers anymore. It's time to say it straight. "One of us has to kill each other."

Freedom's active fingers pause and become idle instantly, dropping the basket and roll of twine. They slip through her fingers and land unceremoniously on her lap. Her head snaps up, eyeing me carefully while she slowly gets to her feet.

"What are you implying?" she inquires warily, her eyes tight like slits as she edges her way to her knife, which she had left lying on the floor. She doesn't make an open attempt to fetch the weapon, but her slushy gray eyes continuously dart back and forth from my gaze to the knife. I can nearly read her mind, and she is chastising herself for leaving it so carelessly in the open.

My own fingers search absentmindedly for the hilt of my sword. I don't even realize I'm unsheathing it until I hear the slight screeching noise of metal hitting metal. I release it like my hand has been stunned.

"I'm implying that we are the only two tributes left, and it's time to make a decision."

"What do you propose?" Her eyebrows are twitching nervously, but now she's eyeing our water supply as well. It has been quite low for many days now and she's probably guessing I'm delirious with dehydration.

I shrug, trying to rid the growing tension of the moment. The Capitol audience will love our uncertainty, but right now, I hate it. How much worse could this already terrible moment get? Putting a hand over my face and rubbing my eyes, I think through all my options and force myself to choose. Kill her, or don't. Run off on your own, or stay. Let the Gamemakers kill you, or kill yourself. Live...or die.

"Live," I mutter inaudibly. Freedom doesn't hear. But before I get the chance to do anything rash, another light, this time ten thousand times more radiant than the first one today, shines through.

The lanterns all go out and the remaining standing walls fall to the sides, crumbling down with the rising of the light. They fall safely to the sides of Freedom and I, and we aren't in any danger as we were previously. The ground opens up around us, great fissures and chasms open like gorges in the ground. Great rumbling and quakes cause Freedom and I to fall to the ground, clutching on to each other for dear life as the gorges swallow up the titanium rubble around us. Once everything is gone except for the island of titanium that Freedom and I stand upon, the chasms close up and leave a flat expanse of green grass and wildflowers. The bright light turned out to be the Sun, something I never thought I'd get a glimpse of again. The arena has completely transformed from a maze into a field.

"Kudos to the Gamemakers for this trick," Freedom says, standing up and dusting herself off.

"This must be the most exciting Hunger Games yet," I reply incredulously, eyes wide with shock at this sudden transformation. "I suppose that's why they created the Quarter Quell. To take the Hunger Games to the next level."

Freedom merely nods, taking in the scene. It's quite amazing, if I must say so myself. Words can't nearly describe the simple beauty of the wide plains stretching out in front of us. The fields of tall green grass reach out to the horizon and beyond, probably for hundreds of miles in one direction. There is nothing natural around like trees or rivers, except for a towering mountain behind our backs. Just wildflowers and grass for miles and miles and as far as the eye can see.

Cautiously, Freedom takes the first step onto the grassy plain. I don't know what possess me to do the same, because I know the possible danger of a foreign and unknown land in the arena, but I robotically mirror her movements. We step down from the little circle left of titanium flooring and feel our feet sink into the fresh, muddy earth that I missed so much. Our boots feel so heavy on the feathery light mud. We spin around to face the lone mountain, its peak reaching the tips of the pale blue sky. Snow covers the peak, but near the base of the mountain it is dry and rocky.

I turn to Freedom, saying, "Suppose we go take a hike."

"Why?"

"It's our best bet at finding water."

She nods, sighing. "Our supply is getting dangerously low. One person won't last three days with our current stock."

"Let's go."

And with that, we walk straight into the trap of the Gamemakers.


	32. Chapter 32

**Freedom Remmington, D11**

Saul and I reach the base of the mountain, and when we do, I know something is terribly wrong. This has to be a trap. No mountain stands alone like this. Every instinct screams at me to run the other way, but I walk forward and ignore them.

Saul has been acting strange lately. It's almost as if he's having this internal battle on whether or not to kill me. I heard him talking in his sleep a few days ago. He has kept a lot of secrets from me, and among them are ones about our former allies. And before one of us dies, I intend to get the truth from him once and for all.

Sliding my knife out of my pocket, I point it at him, backing away from the mountain ever so carefully. "Tell me what you've been keeping from me," I say in a clear, firm voice, never trembling like I thought it might. I'm stronger than I used to be, but that doesn't erase my past like I thought it may.

Saul turns around to face me, eyes wide with shock and a tiny glimmer of fear. His hand flies to the hilt of his sword and he unsheathes it, but to my surprise, he steps it down on the grassy floor. He raises both his hands over his head in surrender but I don't lower my weapon one inch.

"You've been keeping secrets from me," I accuse.

"For your protection," he replies, his expression leveling out to a blank stare.

"Bullshit! I want to know what happened to Clementine, Callum, and Rosemary! And Fiorella, too! I have a right to know."

Saul sighs, lowering his hands and looking up to the tall peak of the lone mountain. "Callum betrayed us. We were fighting the Careers and he had an opportunity to run and make it on his own. So he turned his back on the alliance. You all thought he was lost in the arena, but I knew the truth and I didn't want to tell you because he died only a few days later."

I figured as much. Callum was always a strange fellow. I don't know him enough to judge him, but what does it matter now that he's dead? It doesn't matter at all.

The sun shines down and the rays of fresh sunlight warm my skin. A cool breeze caresses the long grass at my feet, sending off waves of grass in the fields. The tips of the grass brush against the tears and rips in my pants, tickling my ankles. The weight of my knife causes my hands to shake with the effort of holding it up. My steps shuffle as I think of a correct response.

"What about Clem and the others?" I grumble, the breeze picking up to blow my wild hair around my face.

"Rosemary led Clem and I into this greenhouse filled with roses. But a fire was started and we needed to get out before we were burned to death. But then Rosemary kept going deeper into the garden and finally we had to go back and get her out of there. We were near the exit door when a blazing branch fell on Clem's leg. She told us to run and then the fire overwhelmed her."

He pauses to catch his breath. How had I missed all of this? All of this happened while I was playing around with twine back at camp! I can't believe I missed so much.

Saul goes on. "I attacked Rosemary back in the maze but then let her go, telling her to run. Fiorella had heard us escaping the burning garden and was just around the corner. She threw a knife that slit Rosemary's throat to kill her. Fiorella and I fought until we both gave up. Then the earthquake occurred and a wall fell on Fiorella. I escaped and came back to camp."

"Is that the truth?"

"Yes," he sighs, fists clenched.

"That's all?" I ask.

"What more do you want?!" Saul turns angrily on me. I raise my knife again and he halts, mid-step. He rests upon a boulder near the base of the mountain and holds his head in his hands. I lower my weapon and back away. He's becoming volatile and I can't be near him when he snaps.

Another deep rumbling, this time louder and more pronounced, bellows under our feet. I whirl around to face Saul, but he's already right next to me, grabbing my hand and commanding me to run. We don't get far before the inevitable happens.

Behind us, an avalanche of rocks and snow cascades down the side of the mountain, gaining on us like blazing lava down the side of a volcano. The sound of one thousand bombs explodes in my ears as the rocks rain down the mountainside. Dust rakes up all about us and I know we will both be crushed by the raining rocks and snow. Saul and I keep sprinting to our very limits, pushing ourselves faster than we've ever been pushed before.

Little chips and pieces begin to catch up with me. They scratch my exposed skin, like my neck and face. Blood trickles down my hollow cheeks and my breathing because strained. I haven't drunken fresh water for at least a day and coupled with all this running, I could drop dead in a matter of minutes. Saul seems to be in the same predicament. Sweat rolls down his face in tiny beads and his eyes are wild with fear.

A final blast blows both of us off our feet and onto the ground. I land face-first, eating a mouthful of dirt and grass. I try to spit it out, sucking in oxygen before the avalanche consumes me. The rocks bombard my body and I begin to drown in the snow and rocks. Dust enters my lungs and I cough up a storm. I struggle with every bit of strength left in me but nature is too strong. I give up and let the avalanche consume me.

Suddenly, a huge force picks my limp body up and shoves me above the river of rocks and snow. I gasp for breath, sweet dust-free oxygen filling my lungs. I look down and see it was Saul who saved me. He holds me above the rock river as it overwhelms him. He whispers something so quietly I barely catch it.

"Goodbye, Freedom," he utters his last words as the rocks bury him.

"Saul, no!" I screech, holding on to his tight grip. Eventually, his hands slip away under the rocks and his cannon booms. His face appears instantly in the sky and disappears almost immediately. The only thing I catch is that determined gleam in his gray eyes that will never escape me. Then Saul Rigel from District 12 is gone from the world forever.

The avalanche stops instantaneously and trumpets blare in my ears. A peppy voice comes over the intercom, announcing my victory.

"_Congratulations, Freedom Remmington of District 11, the victor of the very first Quarter Quell!"_

Fireworks go off in my head. Did I really just win? Against all odds, I won the Quarter Quell! A hovercraft appears overhead and a ladder drops down. I hold onto the rope ladder as it reels me in to safety. The friendly faces aboard, handing me water and food, assure me. I am returned to civilization.

I am the victor of the first Quarter Quell, and I can return home to District 11, two things I never thought I'd ever get to say again.

* * *

**AN: And our winner is Freedom! But this story isn't over yet! I'm thinking about maybe two more chapters and an epilogue, and then Freedom's story will be finished. Thank you to all those who read. **


	33. Chapter 33

**Freedom**

The first people I see after my "arena recovery" are my beautiful stylist and escort Paprika and my morphling-addicted mentor Zipporah. Paprika embraces me for a long moment, stroking my hair and smiling gently. I remember her being very excitable before the Quell. My long struggle for survival must have sobered her excitement. Zipporah looks much the same, except she ditched the drugs and looks much healthier. She congratulates me quietly before letting Paprika do her magic.

"You have an hour until your interview with Washington Heatherette, so I suggest you think about what you're going to say. This is very important; it will dictate your life as a victor. Think wisely before you speak," says Zipporah before leaving the room gracefully.

Paprika turns to me. "I missed my little Free-Bee!" she squeals, pulling me into a chair and going to work on my hair and makeup. Then she chatters on about what she did while I was in the arena. She says mostly nice things about the Quell, but doesn't mention when my allies died or when I killed someone. I appreciate that.

"They polished you up really nicely," she says, examining my previously scarred skin with speculation. "They do this to all the victors with horrid scars. Fortunately, yours weren't terribly bad."

I don't have any response to that. In fact, if I were to say anything, it's that I wish I still had my scars, old ones and fresh ones alike. They remind me of what I've been through and how that affects who I truly am. I don't want my memories to fade away as easily.

Paprika highlights my features with her magical makeup and curls my hair into auburn ringlets that fall to my waist. She leads me to the wardrobe and shows me a simple, clean white dress with lace details. I slide the dress on and look in the full-length mirror. My reflection shows a petite-looking girl in pearls instead of a victor. I take a deep breath and slip my shoes on. The smooth, lightweight flats are a big difference from those heavy boots I lugged around for all those long weeks.

Paprika and I meet Zipporah by the elevators. While Paprika drones on about some Capitol trend, Zipporah leans down and whispers in my ear, "Thank you for coming back."

My eyes flash to meet hers and she smiles a tiny bit. It must have been so lonely for her, being the only victor from 11. Well, I can keep her company sometime. She knows how it is to feel trapped in the arena for the rest of your life. I think she might have even won when she was thirteen, too.

Eventually, I find myself standing backstage of the stage where all the interviews take place. Washington Heatherette is greeted by a roaring crowd and takes his seat. They announce my name, and it echoes across the City Circle as if in a deep, dark cave. I step cautiously out onto the stage and I am greeted by a wild crowd of screaming Capitolites.

Just like during my last interview with Washington, everything goes exceptionally smooth, way better than I ever expect it to go. To my blatant surprise, he brings up something I completely forgot about.

"So, Freedom," Washington begins, "last time you were here you spelled incredible words. You told us that if you were to come back, you'd tell us the secret to learning how to spell. Would you care to explain?"

"Wow," I whisper, but the audience hears it and laughs. I smile a little bit myself. "I can't believe you remembered that after all this time."

"It would be hard to forget such a charming girl such as yourself."

I pucker my lips, thinking back to my favorite hobby: spelling. How did I learn to spell, you ask?

"Well…I memorized all the roots of the words. Take the word _pulchritude_. It's derived from the Latin word _pulcher_, meaning beautiful. And then I simply break down the word." I shrug. "It's easy. Anyone can do it."

The crowd stares in awe before applauding. Washington smiles warmly. I look out at the crowd, giving them my brightest smile. But deep down inside, it feels all wrong. I should be mourning the loss of my friends right now, but instead, I'm teaching rich people how to spell words. This is all wrong and I know it.

Washington Heatherette draws my attention away from those darker thoughts. "And you are looking quite beautiful yourself this evening, Miss Remmington!"

"Thank you, Washington," I blush, my smile dimming to a subtle grin. I can't appear too arrogant. That's just not my style. "All the credit goes to my amazing stylist and escort, Paprika. She made a grungy girl from 11 look like an angel."

The Capitol audience cheers for Paprika, who blushes brightly in the front row and curtsies daintily. Washington asks some questions about the Quell now. Some of the questions are easy to answer, but others are more below the surface questions and take more thought. I answer as best as I can, but he doesn't make it easy to give a vague answer.

"Tell us about your shock when the arena transformed."

I think back, remembering vividly those images like they happened just yesterday. The dust in my lungs, the rocks crashing into my head, the snow seeping through my thin clothes. Some of those things I hadn't noticed at the time because of the crazy amount of adrenaline spiking my blood at the moment. Everything was fast and furious in those last few minutes.

"It was unbelievable. One moment, I was standing in an inescapable maze, and the next moment, I was standing in a breathtaking field of wildflowers with a mountain towering over my head. Those things don't happen to a thirteen-year-old girl just any day."

"But how did you _feel_?"

My eyes absentmindedly grow wider when I recall the fear and terror of the moment. "It was more than just scary. It was like I was staring death right in the face, defying it to the last moment. Ever since I stepped on the platform at the beginning of the Quell, I kept close company with death and its shadow never escaped me. But now I am finally free of it, at least, for now."

"That's very deep, Freedom. Very insightful. Can you tell us a little more about your alliance and friendship with the other tributes? Please, go into full detail."

I start with Josef. "Josef, the boy from District 3, was the bravest out of all of us. He voluntarily sacrificed his life to save us. Without him, I wouldn't be sitting here with you tonight. I owe Josef my life and so much more.

"The tributes from 6 were interesting. Wynter was the sweetest girl you'd ever meet and I know I'll miss her until the end of time. But I knew that might happen when I entered this alliance. I knew if I survived that I would miss my allies. I thought Callum was my friend and ally, but Saul told me he betrayed us, and I took his word for it, even though I have yet to have seen proof."

"And what about those tributes from District 12, Saul and Clementine?"

"They were true friends. Clementine was what you would call a weakling in the beginning, but at the end, she was so strong and had grown so much. She turned fifteen years old in the arena. I remember we celebrated her birthday by indulging in our low supply of bread, because it reminded her of her home at a bakery in 12."

"Tell us about Saul."

"I honestly don't think there's much to say about Saul," I sigh heavily. "He could have killed me at any point during the Quell and the rest of the allies. He could have won if he set his mind to it. But he didn't." I look Washington straight in the eye to make sure he understands something about Saul Rigel. "Saul didn't want to win if that meant other people had to die. Sure, when it came down to it, he killed tributes, too. But he never took life without a reason, and that reason never had to be justified. Saul was an honorable ally and a true friend. He saved my life more than once and I won't ever forget him."

"Do you have anything to say for your district partner?"

"Forest died in an unfortunate way. I will miss him as well, but I didn't know him as closely as Saul and Clem. I know it will be more than difficult to go back to 11 without him."

"Who was Rosemary to you?"

"Rosemary was an ally, but not really a friend. She joined the alliance late in the Quell, and I don't think I ever truly trusted her. But isn't that what anyone would do if that happened to them?" I take a deep breath. "Rosemary was wise and faithful while the alliance lasted."

"Did you think you would win?"

"No."

A few people in the crowd gasp. My sad eyes rake the audience as Washington simply asks, "Elaborate on that, will you?"

I grin slightly. "It was twenty-three against one, whether you count the alliance or not. I had a better shot than most, but I also had a worse shot at winning than some others. I didn't train much. I didn't have much confidence in myself. And how could I? But the odds were in my favor, so I just let the cards fall where they may."

Washington signs off now. "It was a pleasure to have you here, Miss Remmington." We stand, and he holds my right hand up in the air, announcing clearly, "Freedom Remmington, victor of the Twenty-fifth Annual Hunger Games and the First Quarter Quell!"

* * *

**AN: Freedom's going home now. Her journey with the Capitol is over. Thanks for reading.**


	34. Chapter 34

**Freedom Remmington, D11**

The ones who died drift forward, their long black hoods covering their eyes and cheeks but just grazing their chins. This leaves enough room for me to see their blank, dead expressions. A shiver runs through my spine as I walk past them. I try to run, but I never get away. I am finally beyond them, but my legs don't stop running. I run for millions of miles but somehow, the dead ones never escape me.

I see them in their last moments. Even the ones I didn't know and didn't see die. I still feel it as the fear strikes their hearts one last time and they come to the realization that they will die. They know it is coming and yet they still look up with wide, frightful eyes as the black blade of death comes crashing down on them. The ones I saw killed personally or killed myself are the worst. Their feet levitate about the ground that I am glued to.

I see Saul. I see Forest. I see Wynter and Callum. I see Josef and Rosemary. I see Fiorella and Romilda. I see Nightingale and Levi. I see Rudyard and Wren. I see them all and they see me, too. They watch me with eyes like burning, pale orbs that pierce right through me.

I walk through the arena. I am alone, except for the dead that haunt me.

They surround me on all sides, but they don't stop me from running past them. They know they can catch up. I scream and shout but they watch and stare. Even though they all wear the same dark hood that covers a good portion of their face, I still differentiate their identities.

It's impossible to miss Wynter's round face. It's impossible not to tell Callum's shocks of red hair. It's impossible not to see Forest's pointy chin. It's impossible to be blind to Fiorella's full, perfect lips. All I can see is the lower portion of their facial features, but it's certainly enough to tell.

These are the dead who haunt me.

Screaming, I jolt out of sleep and sit up, throwing the tangled sheets off of my body and running out of my new room to escape the horror. Unfortunately, I can never run fast enough.

I moved into my new home in the Victors' Village in District 11 only two days ago, and yet, the Quell still haunts me. The Capitol, according to Zipporah, absolutely loved me in the Quell and the people are dying to have me come back for more interviews and photo-ops, but I told my mentor that I'm through with the Capitol for the time being. Of course, Zipporah told them I'm merely homesick to sate them. Frankly, I would rather be anywhere than home.

My family did not welcome me home with open arms. It turns out that my mother was brutally murdered by Peacekeepers while I was away in the arena. Apparently, she said something rebellious when they interviewed her for the final eight family interviews, so they killed her on the spot and erased all the footage with her rebellious statements.

My older brother, Trafford, told me this. The Peacekeepers wouldn't reveal any information, not even to the victor of the first Quarter Quell or her mentor. That tells me that whatever my mother said was pretty hardcore stuff. I was about to ask more when Trafford and the rest of my family disowned me.

* * *

"_You need to move out of here," Trafford said coldly, no emotion flickering in his snowflake gray eyes. "You can't be associated with us." He was referring to himself and my other little brother, Leo. _

_I crossed my arms stubbornly. "I'm your family. Doesn't that mean anything to you?" On the outside, I forced myself to stay calm and collected, as if this didn't touch me whatsoever after all the hardships I had pulled through during the Quell. On the inside, however, everything that I had once depended on to keep me strong is crumbling down like an avalanche that I am all too familiar with. _

_Trafford's face was more grim and solemn than I had ever seen or imagined. What happened to the loving, caring older brother I had before the Hunger Games?_

_It's all their fault…The Hunger Games…They've destroyed my mind and heart and friends and now they've come to destroy my family…The only thing I have left is now gone._

"_I don't want Leo to be affected by this curse," hissed Trafford, spitting out venomous words through his teeth. He picked up my suitcase and hefted it over his shoulder, herding me out the door of the house where I grew up. I stood stubbornly in the doorway, hands on my hips in clear defiance. I am a victor; my brother can't boss me around any longer!_

"_What _curse_!?"_

_Trafford spun around and all I could see was the pure hatred in his expression. It's final then. He hates me. "You" was his final word before he stormed off angrily to the Victor's Village and dumped my suitcase off on the front lawn._

* * *

That was two days ago, but it feels like two minutes ago. The wound is still as fresh as when my older brother tore it open and left it to bleed. He's never let me bleed like this before. Before, he had always been there to stitch me up if I was hurt and feed me when I was hungry and our parents couldn't bring anything home to eat. Somehow, Trafford got the food. I still don't know how he did it, but I know it involved something illegal. I bet now he regrets every morsel of food he brought back for me. I wish I knew why he hates me but I think I already know.

He knows I've murdered innocent people and he's ashamed of me.

This isn't the normal reaction families have when their children return from the Hunger Games. Most embrace their children, who miraculously survived a cruel and painful death, and forget all about the bloodshed they caused and were forced to engage in. It's not my fault that I was reaped, and yet, Trafford acts like I'm the Capitol and the Hunger Games and the Quarter Quell and the President all rolled into one.

So I said goodbye to my family and turned my back on them as they did to me.

Leo was difficult and I expected him to be. He wasn't ready to give up his older sister for the Quell and he isn't ready to give her away when she came back so recently. I told him that I would see him again and this wouldn't be the last time. Being the little boy he is, Leo didn't have any choice in the matter and Trafford had to drag him home. I could tell Trafford wanted Leo to hate me as much as he hated me, but hate cannot darken the heart of one so young. Hate is taught, not discovered, and a child so young and fresh does not teach himself to hate unwillingly.

I hope desperately that Leo's future will not be one of darkness and death as mine is destined to be. I hope in vain that Leo grows up to be a fine young man with a bright life before him. Maybe one day we will be free of Panem and the Capitol's control over it. Maybe I'll be alive that day. Perhaps.

I went to visit Zipporah today. She is quite lonely most of the time and I thought that it would be a nice gesture to talk to her. Truthfully, I need someone to talk to as well.

I knocked on the door and she let me in quietly. I sat down at her table. It is becoming increasingly difficult to see the colors and brightness of life now that I'm back home. All I see are the little things and movements. Today, the grass is long and green, when before I could describe in detail about how the individual blades of soft grass sprang up joyfully in hopes of soaking in radiant sunshine in the midday sun.

"I suppose you have a few burning questions to ask me," grinned Zipporah slyly, settling down in the adjacent chair. Her kitchen is light and open, windows opened wide and new sunlight pouring in. This must be how she is coping with cutting her supplies of morphling.

"A few, actually," I say, surprising myself. I hadn't originally come here to ask questions, but now that my mentor brings it to my attention, I do have a few. "Do you know why we didn't get any sponsor gifts? I thought the alliance would give us an edge with sponsors but we never received anything."

Zipporah's brow creased and her gaze dropped to her fidgety hands. "You didn't notice them?" she mumbled.

"Notice what?" I lean forward, momentarily forgetting my sorrow and instantly intrigued.

"The things we sent you." She cocks her head to one side, peering at me strangely. Then my mentor sighs deeply, her shoulders drooping with the effort of holding them up against a world of hurt. "We sent you diversions and distractions. It was a small tweak we mentors made to show the Gamemakers up. They said that none of the tributes would survive without sponsor gifts, so we tried to prove them wrong." Zipporah sighs again, her eyes welling up with sadness as I make the connection. She combs her disheveled hair away from her eyesight and then rests her hands down, staring at them idly as if they are incompetent and she is angry for that. "It ended in many unnecessary losses of life and we should have never tried to show the Gamemakers up. It worked, _but at what cost?_"

My head swirls with the possibilities. The wolves, the earthquakes, the burning garden, the eagle, the avalanche; everything was a trick. So was it the Gamemakers' fault that some of my friends died the way they did, or was it the mentors'…?

"The wolves Josef fought off…," I trail off in wonder.

Zipporah nods grimly. "From the Career mentors. And the earthquake was from 12 to let Saul escape, but it also inadvertently caused the girl from 1—"

"Fiorella," I correct.

"Fiorella," my mentor nods. "It inadvertently caused Fiorella to die from a falling wall. The eagles were also from 12, but I think that those tributes might have had a little bad blood with their escort who also doubled as their mentor because they didn't have one. She was always throwing them to the wolves, if you'll forgive the wording."

"That's unfair," I say stubbornly. I cannot get over how unfair everything has been for the past thirteen years of my life and way before that.

"It's alright, Freedom," Zipporah assures me. "She wouldn't purposely overstep her power to kill them personally just for personal vendetta. And certainly not with a handful of other victors surrounding her." Zipporah chuckles slightly at this last part, lightening the dark mood that once hovered above.

I wait a few moments before continuing. "I heard some talk about a gun and bullets in the Quell. What was that about?" I remember there being gossip among my prep teams and backstage at my interviews, but no one ever spoke a word to me about it…Probably for my own "safety".

Zipporah sighs, yet again, and takes an even longer time to answer. She shuffles around the kitchen, seemingly searching for the right words to help me understand. I wish everyone would just cut the bullshit and say it straight. I'm starting to get fed up, like any other self-absorbed, arrogant victor of the Hunger Games. I'm turning into everything I said I wouldn't and it's tearing me down. Soon there won't be anything left to me. Just a lonely girl without anything but a label to her name and a knife tagged along.

That's all I'll ever be to anyone. A vicious murdering child and an old hag on drugs as I collect years in the dust of District 11. No one will want to remember except as the winner of the Quarter Quell that bit the dust all those years ago. Sounds swell.

Zipporah returns to her seat at last but never meets my eager gaze. She talks as if she's rehearsed this speech of hers. "The Gamemakers were eager to please with this Quarter Quell, being that it was supposed to outshine any other Hunger Games that had come before. So they added a little drama to the mix. They threw in a gun and hid it amongst the Cornucopia supplies. Fiorella found it, but never got to use it.

Why, you might ask? Because the ammunition was spread out in the vastness of the arena. I was told that a total of twelve bullets, one for each district, was distributed around the maze, but only one was found. Rosemary from 8 found it in the garden weeks before she found it again and it went up in flames."

"That's where Clementine must've died," I state the obvious, piecing together bits of information Saul had given me and using the puzzle pieces Zipporah is providing. I knew it all before, but it never made much practical sense until now.

"Yes. The Gamemakers nearly forgot about their little experiment when Rosemary and Fiorella never came into contact and neither the gun nor the bullet was exchanged. In fact, they just about gave up on it because both girls were so secretive about it that they never even told their own allies about the weapons' existence."

I nod, taking it all in. This explains much. Fiorella was always so distant from the rest of the bloodthirsty Careers. She backed off from a few fights and just sat back and watched as her allies wore their minds down to shreds as they led wild goose chases for my alliance. There can be only one true explanation. Fiorella was taught from the start to never trust anyone, and that's just what she did, right up on till the end.

Rosemary remains, forever and always, a true blue mystery to me. She never held any ties to any tributes previous to her short alliance with Saul, Clem, and I. Rosemary never seemed interested in winning the Quell. I don't even think she killed anyone, besides accidently causing Clementine's death. She might still be counted for that one. I try to tell myself that Rosemary doesn't matter now that she's gone, but now that she is gone, I can't help but wonder and want to know what her real motives were. I guess I won't find out until the Victory Tour.

"The Victory Tour," I murmur in blatant shock. I hadn't thought about it until this very moment and I can't believe it slipped my mind.

"Yes, but it isn't until many months from now," says Zipporah. "You won't have to worry about that for a while."

I finally meet her impenetrable gaze. "And what shall I do until then?"

* * *

It was the Victory Tour, after all those months. I had yet to pick a talent, which all victors must do. The President is pressuring me and Zipporah, but she constantly tells him that the time will come when it comes. I hope she is right.

The first stop on the Tour is District 12. I wish it wasn't. This is the place where Saul and Clementine came from. I look down at the coal dust paths and imagine Saul walking along or Clementine strolling to and from her bakery home. I even see the bakery in the town. A little boy, probably her younger brother, peeks his head out the window and stares at me with intelligent eyes as the carriage rolls through the town to the center of the district where I will make my speech.

There is a platform for loved ones of the dead tributes from the district to stand, and I thought I had a pretty good idea of who would be standing there for my friends. On Clem's side, I wasn't surprised. There sat her brother and her parents, teary-eyed but standing tall with pride. They share her blonde hair and blue eyes, just as I suspected. But on Saul's side, no one stands.

Later that day, I escap from the cameras to find Clem's little brother. It is my down time between the dinner with the mayor and the time on the train to District 10, so I decide to wipe the makeup clean off my face and escape for a little while. I make my way to the bakery unnoticed, and the boy who resembles Clem is sitting on the steps outside the bakery, seemingly waiting for something to happen.

I sneak up the steps and hear a great commotion inside the bakery, so I take this as my opportunity to talk to the boy.

"You are Clementine's brother, yes?" He nods, not looking at me. "Can you tell me about Saul Rigel's family, then?"

The boy looks up at me and then glances away. "His father died in the mines two weeks ago and his mother died when we were young."

"What about his sister?"

Clem's brother looks up at me, giving me the funniest look ever. He shakes his head slowly. "Saul Rigel never had a sister."

"Yes, he did. He said her name was Irene." He never actually told me this, but he sure talked about her enough in his sleep.

The boy picks himself up, dusting himself off and slowly stepping up the stairs to the entrance of the bakery. He stops suddenly, spinning on his heel to face me. "Saul was a lonely kid." And then he opens the door and leaves me out on the steps, sitting in the cold District 12 rain.

* * *

We eventually picked a talent for me to spend my time doing. I would play classical piano to please the Capitol and keep the President off my back. Zipporah encourages me to sing as well, as she thinks my voice is very melodic, but I don't think so. I do enjoy singing, even if the sound of my own voice is unappealing to my ears. Others agree with Zipporah. I try singing and it feels like my despaired soul is lifted ever so slightly with the strength I feel coursing through my veins. Learning to play the piano is a piece of cake and I love spending hours on end, composing new music and learning old pieces at my pace and command.

The Capitol patrons encourage me to perform piano concerts every so often, and they made the most ironic catch-phrase for my shows. "Let Freedom Sing" is what they write on posters and tee shirts and pictures of me with my piano. If only they would hear themselves.

Trafford and Leo stay as distant as ever, much to Leo's disappointment. Sometimes I see him walking to school, all alone, kicking up stones on the dusty, beat-down path. I wave to him from the Victor's Village that sits upon a grassy knoll and he sees me, waving back cheerfully. Every day we follow this pattern, and this is how I observe my younger brother growing up and becoming a fine young man, just as I always knew he would be. Each day I think of him and my heart swells with pride. I just wish I could _know_ him instead of just _seeing_ him.

It is better than nothing. There are some who I won't and can't see ever again. I should be thankful for every day that I see Leo strolling down the well-worn path to school. And at least I know he hasn't gone to work in the fields yet and is still receiving an education. A few more years and I expect Trafford will be forced to pull him out of school and put him to work in the fields. There is nothing to be done to prevent it.

The one and only thing left to worry about is the reaping.

Leo has one more year now until he's eligible for the reaping. He is eleven years old today. When this thought came to me, I wondered my own age. I asked Zipporah but she only smiled sadly. Shrugging her shoulders, she said, "Let's do the math."

When I came back from the Quell, I was thirteen and Leo was five. Six years later, I am nineteen years old. They say time flies when you're having fun, but in reality, time flies whether you like it or not. It's only when you really focus on the hands of the clock do they slow down.

The End.

**AN: First of all, I am so sorry this last update came so late. The Internet distracts me from writing sometimes, but today I forced myself to get it together and stop watching ELO concerts on Youtube. **

**HUGE thanks to my faithful readers and followers and reviewers and people who favorited this story because that means more than the world to me. I'm thinking about doing a **_**Lord of the Rings**_** fanfic soon so look out for it if you're a fan of Middle Earth! **

**Thanks again,**

**fleetwoodgirly**


End file.
